Origins and Echoes
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: After crash landing on a planet in a pocket universe, the Doctor and Clara come across a princess on the run, an evil Queen with diabolical plans, and a forbidden romance. When they volunteer to help, it turns out to be a lot less of a 'fairy tale' than they'd imagined.
1. Chapter 1

She was born like any other baby girl in the kingdom, but the infant with the large eyes and the easy smile was no ordinary girl. She was the reason the ships descended into their skies, demolishing everything in their path until they took the castle, marching into it to corner her parents, the King and Queen, in their bedroom. Her mother held her delicately, cradled against her chest as her father looked on from a spot on the floor, arm twisted behind his back in defeat, both looking at the woman swathed in black armor who stood in front of them, weapon raised as another scanned the girl and offered a nod.

"This is the one," a man to their right explained.

"The daughter of the King," the woman laughed, "Fitting," she told her army. "Take the girl; kill them."

The Queen turned painfully, shouting, "No, _no_, you cannot take her. _Please_," as the baby watched, small lips trembling at the sound of her mother's frightened voice.

Crossing the distance between them, the armored woman smiled wickedly and she explained, "Don't worry, I'll make an excellent mother for the princess." She lifted the gun just underneath the swaddled child and fired a shot, lifting the girl out of the Queen's arms as she fell away and then nodding back towards her soldiers, who executed the King.

"Excellent mummy indeed," the woman told the now crying child, searching her blanket and finding the name embroidered into the fabric, "Clarice."

In the years that passed, the girl grew under the watchful eye of the new Queen's guard. She was allowed to run about the castle, but she never left the gates and when she approached the Queen, Clarice chewing anxiously at her lips while fiddling with her fingers just at her stomach, the woman sighed in annoyance.

"What is is?" she asked from the window that overlooked the villages just beyond the castle walls and the forests in the distance, then turned to look upon the small child with the wide brown eyes and the dark locks that fell over her bony shoulders. "Well, child, spit it out."

"Mummy," she began lightly, voice wavering, "I'd like to go into the village."

The Queen turned swiftly, bending and lifting a finger to shush the girl as she shook her head, vicious look ready in her bright eyes before she let it melt away to explain, "Darling, it's far too dangerous beyond the walls. You know the people revolt."

"They're angry," the girl responded.

Straightening, the Queen glanced down at the boldness in the small face and she nodded, "That they are."

"They're starving in the streets, I've heard the tales – they're our people; aren't we meant to help?" The question was an accusation that earned her a rough slap across the cheek, sending her to the ground.

Hand balling in mid-air, the Queen looked away and uttered, "Off with you, Clarice; I won't be bothered again with your silly questions."

Days were spent in the highest tower, looking over the kingdom and wondering what lay beyond those gates and she was excited when one of her guards, a young man with eyes like the Queen's, brought her a scope on her tenth birthday that allowed her to peek closer at the people in the village just beyond the wooded area that circled the castle. He'd always smiled for her, shy and honest, and he waited for her to look the item over.

"It's not much," he sighed, "But you can see further than the walls."

"You've been in the stars," she replied quietly. "Could you take me away?"

He ducked his head, body stiffening anxiously the way it always did when she asked too much of him. As if he were realizing the line he crossed in speaking to her as comfortably as he often did. The guard shifted away from her, and he shook his head sadly, "Clarice, it would be not be wise to speak of this gift to the Queen."

Nodding slowly, she watched him go and turned eagerly towards the window with her scope, but Clarice was saddened by what she saw: children in rags; mothers carrying infants clinging to life; fathers begging for scraps. She cried herself to sleep that night, like she had on other nights, but unlike other nights she began to wonder if she could escape.

They were building a machine, somewhere in the castle. A machine she'd heard would open a doorway to another world. A world, she knew, the woman posing as her mother had come from – along with her guardsmen and the soldiers who walked the streets of the villages and hunted in the forests. Clarice searched for that machine. She scurried about at night with a dagger tucked into her waist with the hopes of destroying it. Maybe destroying it would send them home.

And take Morda with it.

The night she found it though, following a nauseated feeling in her gut down a set of steps and through a tunnel hidden behind a false cabinet, she fainted just as she opened the door, listening to Morda's scientists shouting to get her away from the machine. It was far too early for her to be near it.

"_It will kill her before her time_," Gonther cried as they carried her away and when she was back in her bed, he remained over her, uncharacteristically kind. With a cold hand pressed to her head, he whispered, "_Child, stay away from the machine; it will be the death of you_."

"_Locked away here_," she'd replied on a ragged breath, "_I am already dead_."

But she stayed away. She couldn't forget the pull it had on her heart, or the way it made her skin break out into a cold sweat that crackled like fire. She had nightmares about it consuming her that left her pale face with dark circles underneath her eyes and a constant exhaustion and the older she grew, the more convinced she became that she had to escape. She escaped or she died in that machine; she was sure of it.

Clarice looked across the dinner table at the woman with the blindingly bright eyes that sat arrogantly on her porcelain face as she poked at her own food, studying her. "Mother," she called, watching the face rise to smile flaccidly at her. "Might I have a ride on the horses in the evening?"

She was staring curiously at her and Clarice did her best to look uninterested – something she'd grown accustomed to doing over the years – staring down at the crimson dress she wore, waiting as Morda nodded slowly and replied, "Of course, dear. Be sure to be back before nightfall. I wouldn't want you falling off that horse and injuring yourself."

There came a laugh, one that made Clarice's heart thud heavily in her chest a moment before she joined in and shook her head, telling her lightly, "Of course, mother."

An hour later she was sitting on a dark horse, listening to its breath shudder out into the cold night and she gave it a gentle pat before removing a small explosive from her cloak. She'd seen them use it in the village with her scope and she'd been told it should be powerful enough to take out the bricks on the exterior wall of the castle. She began a slow gallop, making a large circle in the open field and then she braced herself, fingers tightening their grip on the device she held.

With a small breath, she whispered, "Geronimo," and she stabbed her heels into the horse, listening to it give a loud yelp as it kicked its front legs into the air and then broke into a run.

Clarice held tight to the reigns with one hand, looking out to the wall in the distance and she measured the timing, knowing if she got it wrong it would be disastrous and she'd surely be locked in the dungeon until whatever time Morda saw fit to release her for the machine. She steadied herself as the horse made a sharp dip to the right, down a small slope, and then she flicked on the trigger mechanism, feeling her breath growing painfully cold in her lungs.

Behind her she could hear a trumpet sounding, a warning, and she managed a crooked smile as she arched her arm back and then threw the explosive, clasping at the reigns now with both hands as it connected with the wall with a thud and then detonated loudly. A second and third trumpet blared into the air and they were joined by an odd whining. Some alarm from their technology, she knew, and Clarice bent lower to the horse as it continued towards the smoking rubble.

With a leap, landing roughly, Clarice was free from the castle and she chanced to let out a wild laugh, feeling the hood of her cloak drop back against itself, hair now flowing behind her in long dark waves. She could hear the stomping in the distance, knew they'd be searching on their own horses and her smile folded into a thin-lipped grimace of determination as she maneuvered the unfamiliar woods behind the castle.

"Clarice!"

The voice was shrill and booming and cut the air like a lightning bolt directly to her ears that made her jump and yank the horse to the right. She glanced up at the darkening skies, knowing they could have taken to the air as well, and she tried to steer the horse towards thicker coverage, straining her eyes to see and she frowned at the noise she heard. It was unlike anything she'd heard before in her life, like something struggling to breath, long and wheezy breaths that accompanied a dim light in the distance.

Had they developed something especially to find her? She glanced back, knowing she had enough of a head start that she could disappear past the river – from the tower with her scope she could see the density of the trees just beyond it. And when she turned back, she gasped at the sudden appearance of a tall blue box, flashing light atop it signaling its arrival.

Clarice shouted out and watched the doors bang open on either side just as she reached it, yanking roughly on the reigns, gaining her a loud neighing from the horse she rode. It skid to a stop just inside and reared up on its back legs and Clarice could hear a man shouting; could hear a woman responding in kind as her horse settled itself, her hood dropping back over her head with the motion.

"Clara, stay back away from it," the man warned.

"Doctor, it's a horse – what's a horse doing in the Tardis?" came the frustrated response.

"We just got hijacked, ripped right from the time vortex, tossed across the galaxy, thrown into a pocket universe, with…" he paused, "Oh, brilliant. Dironem readings zipping around like cobwebs in an old house and you're concerned about a horse in the Tardis."

There came a familiar laugh, and the woman – Clara – spat, "You gave me lip for shaking an umbrella in the Tardis and I voice concern about a live animal and still, lip." There was a pause and then a whispered, "I'm concerned about the rider."

"Rider, ah, yes, _rider_. Bit flummoxed myself about her. _Hello_?"

Clarice peeked out from under the hood enough to make out the dark brown pants that belong to the man who'd called out and she could see the deep red skirt of the woman who shuffled forward to stand at his side. "Uh…" she managed, hands patting gently at the horses sides before she turned and watched the Tardis doors snap shut.

"Um, yes, hello," the Doctor repeated. "I'm the Doctor and this is Clara – could we be of assistance to you and your horse friend here?"

The horse whined and Clarice swung her leg over, slipping off and landing with a clank against the metal ground before she uttered, "My stars," and examined the ground. "Is this a ship?"

"Yes," the Doctor offered slowly.

"But it was a box," Clarice muttered, "A blue box barely small enough to…" she raised her head quickly and her breath caught in her throat as she looked from the awkward looking man to the impossible woman at his side and she tore her hood away, staring wide eyed at the woman.

"Clara?" The Doctor questioned, looking between them.

The woman at his side remained motionless, dark eyes widening to match the set staring at her, and she shook her head, pointing and then something like understanding fluttered over her features, which did nothing to calm Clarice's racing heart.

"Echo," Clara stated with a nod. "She must be one of my echoes."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean she's escaped?" Morda shouted, voice echoing through the castle as she stared at the legion of men now bowed before her in the great hall, the front of which held her singular throne. She paced slowly and looked over them. "She's a _little girl_, barely capable of lacing her own shoes and you let her escape?"

The man at the front glanced up, mouth set in a frown, and he offered, "With all respects, your majesty, by the standards of these people, she's a grown woman."

"Twenty four, a speck of life I've had to put up with to get home," she pointed, "To get you home, Sloren, and all of our people, and you not only let her get away, but she somehow got a hold of explosives." With a smile, she questioned, "Any idea of how she could have gotten that?"

Scratching at the scruff of his cheek, he sighed and offered, "We'll take a count of the armory."

"You know our supplies are limited, and we'll need that when we return."

"Yes, your majesty," he allowed, turning and motioning for his men to stand.

"Sloren," she called as soon as the men had started to depart, "A word?"

Light eyes turning to meet hers, he shook his head, "I'm sorry mum, we were assured she had your permission to be on the grounds; I've already sent a squad into the forest, but in the dying light it will be hard to search, made worse by the antics of the rebels that hide out there." He nodded, "Come daylight, I'll gather my best…"

"I want you here, son," she interrupted, "Don't think I haven't seen the way you look at the girl." Then she scoffed, "A child, Sloren; barely a quarter your age, and _human_." She made a noise of disgust, "I trust I'm wise to believe you had nothing to do with…"

"I would never betray you, mother," he spat angrily. "She's a _charge_, nothing more – you asked me to look after her and I have."

Nodding, she allowed, "Just yesterday you were in the garden…"

He interrupted, "Following her closely, at your command."

"A laugh easily on your lips," she sighed.

His mouth betrayed him, a small grin sneaking onto it before he huffed, "Are the jokes of a child not to be entertained? You asked me to gain her trust; I've done so, and because of it, she's been fairly content behind these walls for twenty three and a half years."

"Then I needn't remind you of her purpose."

"No, mother," he growled.

"And how valuable she is to us."

"We'll find her and return her to the castle."

"I need her alive, Sloren," she warned.

"Understood," the man told her before adding, "Your majesty."

She waved a hand and turned away with a small exhale of annoyance, telling him, "Run along, boy – your soldiers will be mindless without their prince."

Sloren gave a curt nod and then turned, keeping his steps calculated as he exited the large room and moved into the hall, closing the doors behind him with his teeth clenched, ready to release a small breath of relief when Gonther cleared his throat as he approached from the side. Straightening, Sloren gave him a scowl and muttered, "Any news from the air?"

The older man, hunched slightly with age, pushed glasses further up his large nose and shook his head sadly, lifting a hand to pat Sloren's shoulder, "The girl's all but disappeared into the forests, but we've detected something far greater."

"Greater than…" he began, but he swallowed his words and nodded, "What have you found?"

Lifting his head in the direction of the forests, Gonther offered excitedly, "Time Lord Technology, sitting somewhere out in that forest."

Sloren shook his head and laughed, "That's preposterous – you know as well as I that the Time Lords, all of Gallifrey, it was wiped out in the Time War – nothing survived."

"Daleks remain, roaming the skies like scavengers – why not Time Lords?" He tilted his head and nodded, "If there's a Time Lord here, we may not need the girl."

"You believe the technology could transport us back home?"

Gonther nodded and he inched closer, muttering, "Some of us, anyways."

Clapping a hand to the old man's back, Sloren offered, "Best news I've heard all day, Gonther." Then he turned, "Have you come to tell the Queen?"

Dropping his shoulders heavily, he nodded, "No choice – I wasn't alone when it was discovered; if I don't tell her, I'll be branded a traitor – beheaded before dawn."

With a small nod of appreciation, Sloren told him, "Then tell her it exists, but if you find its location, you bring that to me at once. If there's a Time Lord meddling in our affairs, surely they'll have a way to find Clarice."

He began to move, but Gonther raised a hand and called his name and as he turned, the older man warned, "Best you keep your enthusiasm about the girl hidden well, Sloren – I doubt the Queen would spare her son's head if she finds reason not to trust it."

* * *

"What do you mean I'm an echo?" Clarice said slowly, staring at Clara as she continued to stare, wide-eyed and amused, "Is this sorcery?" She asked.

The Doctor stepped up between them, quickly looking from one woman to the other and he raised his hands towards Clarice, giving her his best smile and explained, "Great big universe, there are bound to be echoes of a face here and there – you're simply echoes of one another, scattered to the wind and, by random chance, you're meeting." Then he turned, "Or possibly not by random chance?"

Clara's gaze shifted then, meeting his to ask, "What do you mean not by random chance?"

"Clara, we were pulled out of the time vortex by something." He turned back to the visitor as the horse clopped it's front hooves into the Tardis, "You're not, _by chance_, technologically inclined?"

Head jerking back slightly, Clarice allowed, "If by _technologically inclined_, you mean capable of pulling a ship out of the sky, then no, sir, I am not."

"Good, yes," he smiled, "Good then, not you." He shook his head, "Of course _not you_."

"Sorry," Clara told her quietly, watching the Doctor move to the console to begin tinkering with buttons and levers, looking to his screen. "He's a bit out of sorts at the moment; can't wrap his head around our current predicament," and she stopped when she felt the finger push into her shoulder, looking to her side to see Clarice staring down at her finger in confusion. "We're not the same person," Clara told her, then tilted her head, "Well, I guess that depends on how you look at it."

"Clara," the Doctor warned.

"Who are you?" Clarice questioned.

"Doctor," the Doctor reminded, then pointed, "Clara. And what's your name? Where are we?"

Taking a step forward, eyes roaming the controls of the ship, she muttered, "Clar, uh, Clarice. And you're in Euwan, but you said," She pointed, "You said pocket universe before; how do you mean this is a pocket universe?" She looked to Clara, "That sounds small, tucked away, can you make sense of it?"

With a laugh, the Doctor supplied, "I can make sense of it."

But Clarice turned, "You're the strange man not making sense of anything at the moment."

Clara snorted and explained, "There's the universe – the stars you see in your sky, they're other planets…"

"I know of other planets," she nodded, "We're supposed to be shielded from them. No one comes to Euwan and no one leaves. It's written in the books in the library."

"Ah," the Doctor shouted, "Someone must have hidden this place here then. Folded a bit of time and space and pushed it in for safe keeping, but from what…" he looked up at Clarice and Clara, both giving him identical looks of frustration. "The books, do they mention anything like that? Euwan," he repeated under his breath.

With a shrug, Clarice replied, "No, it just says we're shielded."

"Shielded like a marble zipped into a sweater pocket, something must have put you there, or pinched you off – perhaps someone was ridding the universe of this planet for a…"

"Doctor," Clara interrupted, "Let's worry about getting Clarice home for now, shall we?"

Clarice jumped at the words though, both hands coming out to grip Clara as the Doctor grimaced, but the contact did nothing to either of them and he stared, perplexed. "I can't go home; I ran away from home."

"Why would you run away?" Clara asked curiously, watching the fear that was immediate on the other woman's face as she considered them, as if trying to choose whether she could trust them and Clara reached up and slipped her fingers around Clarice's forearms, smiling and acknowledging, "I know we're strangers, but we're here to help."

Bowing her head, she said softly, "It's my mother," then she lifted her eyes and Clara could see the anger there as she corrected, "She's not _really_ my mother – she's from one of these other planets from beyond the shield, outside of the _pocket_. Somehow they got through and they killed my parents and took over everything. They've been making something, some machine, and they intend to use me to power it somehow."

"A machine," the Doctor questioned, "Powered by a human?"

"Is that possible?" Clara asked, pulling Clarice into a half-hug the other woman accepted gratefully.

He shrugged and looked to them, brow knotting, "I suppose it's possible, but she's an echo. A pin you dropped in the haystack of time, one of thousands, one in…" he trailed, considering it, "An echo still tethered to the original; an echo still echoing." His hand touched to his chest and reached out and the back, eyes widened slightly as he stared at Clara, head shaking slightly against the thought in his head.

"Doctor, you're freaking me out," Clara told him forcefully.

Clarice uttered, "I'm not following; why does he keep calling me an echo."

The horse behind them stomped one foot angrily and they turned to it just before the Tardis gave a shake, and then another, and suddenly they were moving.


	3. Chapter 3

Hansel was used to finding odd things in the forest behind the castle. They say their 'scientists' conducted experiments that made the animals change. He once shot a deer with two heads that was the size of an Ox. So when he came across the tall blue box, light atop bright in the darkness, he wasn't surprised, he was pleased. He had a reputation to uphold and this was certainly the thing to do it.

He gave the handle at the door a small tug and frowned when it refused to budge, and then waved his friend Moff over, watching the grubby youngster with the puff of black curls atop his head rush towards him, exhausted breath escaping as smoke into the night air. "No," he immediately spat, hands swiping a cross in front of him as he looked over the box.

Clapping a hand at the boy's shoulder, Hansel nodded, "Yes."

Repeating sternly, Moff spat, "No."

"Come on, Moff, you know this'll get us extra rations," Hans argued, free hand waving over the length of the box before tilting his head, sending a tuft of thin dirty blonde hair over his right eye. "You know how excited they get about this sort of stuff."

"I'm not carting that off – have you taken in the size of it?" He shifted out of Hansel's grasp to walk a circle around the box, "You should get your uncle."

Hansel straightened and frowned, "He's not my uncle."

Moff smiled, "That's right, just the guy who took you in when the Queen's men beheaded your dad."

"Look," Hansel sighed, eyes closing, "Let's just try to get it on the cart, get it back to camp…"

"What about Orla?"

"Can't tell Orla…" he began, thinking about the older woman who thought it her job to keep tabs on all of the younger inhabitants of the camp.

"She'll find out you were out after dark anyways; you think she doesn't already know," Moff laughed, "Orla's got eyes on everyone back home."

Hansel moved a cart towards the Tardis and stood beside it, hands pressed to the bright blue wood and he growled, "You gonna help me or not?" He gave the box a shove and it tilted slightly and then came back down heavily.

With a frustrated sigh, Moff rolled his eyes and approached the box, standing next to Hansel and telling him bluntly, "Stop smiling, I'm doing this under protest."

"Won't be protesting when you're shoving an extra quarter pound of rabbit in your gullet," Hansel teased.

"Shut it," Moff hissed, hands up against the box at his side and they counted together and then pushed the box onto its side, hearing the crash of wood on wood and it made a horrible clang that sent their hands up over their ears. "Let's just get it back," Moff shouted.

* * *

"We're on our _side_!" The Doctor cried out in anger.

"What d'you mean _on_ _our side_?" Clara responded, leaving Clarice to soothe her upset horse as she went to the Doctor at the console and watched him clicking buttons and shaking his head.

Clarice glanced up at them and offered, "What _does_ he mean?"

"I mean we're horizontal," he told them both with a quick look between them, something like fear passing over his features before he looked back at the console and then tapped the screen. "Being taken somewhere."

"Back to the castle?" Clarice shouted, rushing towards them.

The Doctor shook his head, "No, looks like further into the forest," and he watched the woman give a sigh of relief that he scoffed at, "Oi, still not good – we don't know what's in the forest."

"Just the villagers," Clarice told him, "Rebels who've run away from the village, actually. They sort of live there, living off the land and causing trouble for the Queen." The smile on her face was one of satisfaction and Clara got the impression they weren't necessarily headed for trouble in the forest.

She looked to the Doctor and asked, "Like Robin Hood then. Steal from the rich; give to the poor?"

Lifting a hand, he replied with a sigh, "If I had any idea of where we were, I might be able to judge the comparison, but I've never even heard of Euwan much less the hierarchy of it – Clarice, rebels? Friends of yours?"

The woman shrugged, "Suppose so – I've never met them."

"Never met them," he repeated, nose wrinkling before it dawned on him, "Oh, you're the princess."

"Princess?" Clara asked, looking from the Doctor to Clarice.

The Doctor frowned. "Clarice," be began with a point before tucking one hand into the other to explain, "You're _running_ from the castle, from a machine you're somehow able to power, from a mum who isn't a mum, who's ruling over the kingdom, creating dissidents in the village – _rebels in the forest_. Mum and dad lived in the castle, but new mum – new _not mum_ from the skies – had them killed in order to keep you for her machine. To power their machine, except _you're not the power source_; you're the coordinates, the guide. The map back home."

With a shake of her head, Clarice asked, "How could I be a map; I'm merely a person."

"You're an _echo_," he corrected with a sad smile.

"Doctor," Clara said plainly, seeing the confusion and fear in Clarice's eyes.

"No point in sugar coating it, Clara," he ducked his head to say, "She's your echo, echoing back out into the universe," he pointed, "To you."

Clarice laughed, quietly and as though he were speaking absurd words, and she looked Clara over, "I'm not sure I understand."

"You're a splinter in the winds of time," the Doctor explained, "A fractioned bit of Clara that exists to save me – you're an echo of her."

Closing her eyes, she crossed her arms at her chest and barked, "Why does that make me a map?"

"Because you're tethered to me," Clara breathed. "Doctor, can they use that tether to pull themselves out of the pocket universe?"

"Clever girl," the Doctor whispered. "But no, not right now anyways, they can't," he gestured at her, "You're here – they'd just burn her alive with the effort and find themselves stuck forever; it's fortunate at all that they managed to end up in a pocket universe with one of your echoes at all."

Clarice took a step back away from the both of them and she slipped a hand up, gnawing at the skin at the edge of her nail and when she glanced up, she saw Clara doing the same and she asked quietly, "Am I not real then?"

"You're real," Clara turned immediately to tell her, "You're as real as me."

"Clara," the Doctor warned.

She raised a hand to silence him and she reached forward with her other, waiting until Clarice took it and she gripped at her fingers, "You're absolutely real."

Staring down at their hands, Clarice sniffled a laugh and then she nodded, "You're both mad," her voice light and amused, and she released Clara to move to the Doctor's side to ask, "You say I exist to save you; save you from what?"

"Not sure," he told her softly, "Maybe," he smiled as he turned to take in the sad, yet hopeful expression on her familiar face, lifting a finger to nudge her cheek with his knuckle, "Maybe I'm here to save you." Clara and Clarice both laughed and he hung his head, knowing the odds and knowing he was willing to bet against them. "We're slowing down," he told them both, eyebrows rising with excitement.

* * *

Hansel let the handle of the cart drop to the ground as they entered the camp and he smiled proudly when the elders approached and lifted his find back upright on the ground to examine. "Found it not far from the castle," he announced, "Could be of use."

With a roll of his eyes, Moff shifted away from him and stood closer to one of the bonfires, holding his hands out to warm them before a woman came to stand next to him, dropping an arm over his shoulders and giving him a welcoming smile. His eyes widened as he glanced up at the kind face studying him, imagining he would have to be the one to make excuses for the lankier boy now receiving pats on the back for… Moff knew… probably nothing.

"You two should have been back hours ago," Orla told him gently, fingers giving him a small squeeze as she sighed and looked to Hansel, "You _do_ understand how dangerous it is, approaching the castle?"

Nodding slowly, Moff threw a glance at the other boy and explained, "You know how he is."

"I know you're just being a good friend, Moff, but Hansel needs to learn to do as he's told." She leaned down to whisper, "If he won't listen to me, then maybe you should give him a friendly nudge in the right direction on occasion for me?"

His lips pressed together as he nodded again, this time hanging his head slightly with embarrassment before uttering quietly, "Yes, ma'am."

Orla slipped away from him with a muted chuckle and found Hansel amongst the men, calling his name and watching the crowd disperse as she laughed at the upright box before asking him, "So what have you found now, Hansel?"

He gestured at it awkwardly, arm limply rising and dropping before he offered, "One of their experiments. Suppose they were trying to get off-world again."

"You think it's a ship," she responded, sounding amused, and a few of the men laughed while Hansel's cheeks went red. "It's barely big enough to fit four, much less the army the _Queen_ commands," she teased, listening as those around her continued to laugh at her words.

Biting his lip, he pushed a hand through his hair and then glanced sideways, considering her words before responding, voice breaking, "Perhaps it's a portal of sorts."

"Portal," she laughed, "Next you'll be telling me it's bigger on the inside."

As she spoke, the door opened swiftly and the Doctor popped his head out, glancing at the men closest to him and shouting, "Hello! The Doctor here. _Friendlies_ exiting the magic portal having nothing to do with the Queen or her Queenliness. Don't shoot… or stab… or _behead_. Here to help; here to," he exited the Tardis and looked to Orla curiously, passing a glance back at the two women inside the Tardis, approaching with hesitation before he turned his attention back and said, "_Hello_."

Clara gave him a light shove and she stumbled out of the Tardis, onto the ground, hearing Clarice calling out to her before she felt two hands lift her and she smiled, ready to make a joke about her clumsiness when she locked eyes with the woman now holding her up. Her mouth fell open and she uttered in shock, "Mum?"


	4. Chapter 4

Orla shifted back slightly, looking down at the young woman now gripping her arms, eyes wide and searching and wet with the beginnings of tears and she smiled, "I could help you find your mum," she offered.

With a nervous laugh, Clara slipped away and shifted closer to the Doctor as he looked her over and then glanced to the woman before them now staring at Clara. And then he turned to Clarice, stepping delicately out of the Tardis with her hands on the reigns of her horse and as soon as she'd exited, the crowd stepped back and someone shouted, "Is it a portal?"

Hansel peered inside and frowned, "It _is_ a ship."

Raising her hands, Orla commanded, "How about we all return to dinner; we have guests," she looked from Clara to Clarice and then back and she asked quietly, "Would you stay, girls? We have plenty."

The Doctor shifted forward behind them and Orla straightened to stare fiercely at him as he lifted both fingers and pointed to state, "Travelling with _the girls_."

Clarice nodded slowly and explained, "He's strange, but he's a good man."

"I'll be the judge of that," Orla replied curtly, before gesturing to the two women, "It's not often we see twins in this realm. They're generally thought to be a bad omen."

"We're not," Clara began, shaking her head and trying to calm her pounding heart as she spoke to the woman who looked identical to her mother, "We're not twins, not a bad omen, just a _strong resemblance_."

Orla laughed and Clara sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips as Orla repeated, "Strong resemblance." The woman looked to the Doctor who was now pulling the Sonic from his pocket and before she could question him, he was tackled to the ground and she shouted, "Mallory, no!"

"Ma'am, he's got a weapon," the man gestured with a nod of his head.

"Not a weapon," the Doctor shrieked, "Sonic. Scanning device. _Not a weapon_!"

"Let him stand," Orla cried just as Clara barked, "Let him go!"

The oversized man with the short crop of dark blonde hair to match his scruffy beard looked up at them both, blinking in confusion a moment before he released the Doctor, who scrambled up to stand between Clara and Clarice and he raised the Sonic to show them, gasping, "Scanning, just _scanning_."

He gave the Sonic a wave over Orla and she furrowed her brow at him as he studied the readings, asking him calmly, "What sort of scan are you performing?"

"Sort that determines you are human; absolutely normal; and you're quite right," he gestured at Clara knowingly, "Strong resemblance."

"Doctor, she looks just like," Clara began to hiss in his ear, but he buzzed her with the Sonic and shifted away, taking in the woods around them on a twirl and then scanned Clarice.

"So," the Doctor asked, "How long have you been out here in the woods…"

"Orla," the woman offered with a small nod as she turned and began to walk to where the rest of the group had gone back to their regular routines. "I've been in these woods for years. Too many to count."

Pressing his lips together, the Doctor postulated, "Would say it's been a good twenty or so, wouldn't you, Orla?"

She laughed calmly, and turned, "Presumptuous fellow, aren't you?" She looked to the Sonic he was pocketing, "That what your little toy tells you?"

"My toy," he patted his breast, "Tells me that you're quite out of place. Should be in the Dozar system, parked in a quaint corner of the galaxy, but instead you're out here –" he paused, mouth falling open as he laughed, "Of course, Euwan. Not a planet, but a person. A family, a lineage," he turned, "Clara, you might have a lineage one day," he laughed.

Smiling, Clara's brow dropped as she looked to Clarice, still a step behind them all, still anxiously looking around as if waiting and Clara understood she was waiting for the castle guards to come out from behind trees. She reached back to loop her arm through her double's and offered a polite smile and a nod of reassurance. Clarice seemed hesitant, but came to stand at her side and they both turned to look at Orla as she swiftly shifted her gaze away from them, seemingly troubled.

"Doctor," Clara prompted, "Shouldn't we get these people out of here?"

"Planet in the wrong place; planet in a pocket universe – Visitors from outside of the universe, stuck inside looking for a way out," he began, nodding, "Definitely. Definitely should be getting them out of here."

"You want to see the machine," Clara surmised with a small nod as she looked to Clarice, "He wants to know how it works; wants to deactivate it – is thinking it could be something very dangerous that should be destroyed instead of left in the hands of the people who killed your parents."

The Doctor smiled. "We have to get back into the castle."

"No," Clarice argued, "No, if you take me away from the machine, they can't make it work."

"And who's to say there isn't another like you?" The Doctor pointed out. "Tardis has no records of this planet, at least not now – there are a thousand years of missing time, time locked away in this pocket. Like a forgotten fairy tale." He smiled, "And there's always a backup plan."

"Like us going to the castle," Clara sighed with a roll of her eyes.

Orla shook her head, "You're suggesting breaking into the castle; getting past the Queen; somehow with your heads still attached to your bodies."

Waving a hand, the Doctor replied, "Easy."

"Doctor, _not _easy," Clara spat, "How are we going to walk in?"

"We tell them we have the princess, they let us right in through the front doors," he told her with a nod, watching her already large eyes widen slightly.

Clarice shifted forward, "I'll not be going back to the castle!"

Pointing at Clara, the Doctor explained, "_Strong_ resemblance."

"She'll not be going back to the castle either," Orla argued, moving forward and placing a protective hand atop Clara's shoulder.

"She's never _been_ to the castle," the Doctor pointed out, eyeing her. But the woman stared before lifting her other hand to Clarice's shoulder to steer them away from the Doctor and towards a table with makeshift plates filled with bits of meat, berries from the forests, and loaves of bread. He moved with them and watched as Orla glanced towards Mallory, who stepped between them and he stopped, hanging his head. "Taking the hint," he sighed before calling, "Clara, I'll be just behind the barbarians."

"He is right," Clara told Orla quietly, "The only way to ensure her safety is destroying the machine. And who knows what else they've got – we could maybe lend a hand to the revolution. If you're looking to start one…"

The woman beside her seemed to consider it, and Clara was tempted to throw her arms around her, but chose, instead, to take a long drink out of the cup she was offered. She followed Orla, Clarice at her side, through the camp – both receiving odd stares as they moved behind what was obviously the camp matriarch – and found herself seated by a large fire, warming them enough to remind Clara it was night and she was tired and she could see, by the way Clarice's eyelids drooped, the other woman was exhausted as well.

"It wouldn't be wise to try to take my place," Clarice told her quietly when Orla stood to figure out sleeping arrangements for the three newcomers, "They won't take their eyes off of you."

Grinning, Clara sighed, "Good, all eyes on me; easier for the Doctor to slip around the castle."

"They'll find him, you know – he's not as stealthy as you think."

"Oh," Clara laughed, "He's not stealthy at all."

"Then it's not much of a plan," Clarice allowed. "You'll be under guard and he'll be caught straight away. Head on a pole in the middle of one of the villages as a reminder to those who seek to undermine the Queen." Clarice looked over the people around her, a sad look dampening her face and Clara understood – if they did start some sort of revolution, the people who fought here could die.

Clara glanced over at the man now eyeing Mallory, shifting on tip-toe to look him in the eye, trying to be menacing, and she laughed, turning back to her, "He has a way though… of being very successful at infiltration."

"How long have you been travelling with him?" Orla asked.

She began to say "_Oh, mum_," but stopped herself as she turned and looked to the woman and told her plainly, "A year, maybe? It's hard to tell with the time travelling bits added in."

"Where had you been before that?"

"Home," she nodded, "Planet called Earth."

Orla nodded slowly and her eyes dropped down to her plate before she shifted closer to Clarice and nudged her, "And you, living in the castle all of this time – everyone knows about you, you know. The lost little princess."

Clarice smiled shyly, ducking her head before glancing up at the woman next to her and she sighed, "That what I am – a _lost_ princess?"

"You're the only hope a lot of the villagers have left – they know you're the rightful heir to the throne, so they keep watch; just as you keep watch over them."

Shifting slightly, Clarice asked, "They can see me?"

She pointed skyward and laughed, "Tallest tower in the castle, looking down with your scope." Watching Clarice absorb the information, Orla pulled her into a half hug and admitted, "Gives me hope to know the proper crown survives in some way – and to know you haven't been poisoned by these invaders."

"I would never," Clarice growled, but there was a small smile she tucked into the corner of her mouth that Clara caught and she knew it well – a secret; the sort of secret you pushed into the back of your mind because acknowledging it would seem dangerous and wrong. Clara excused herself quietly and stood with her plate and cup and went to find the Doctor still sizing up several men who chuckled at the inquisitive oddity of a man pacing before them.

He definitely stood out, Clara knew, coming to his side to tug him away towards another log sunken into the ground and when he sat, she offered him her plate, watching him chuck several berries into his mouth to chew on considerately before he nodded and said, "She's the Queen; _rightful_ Queen."

"I know," Clara sighed.

"How d'you…" he began before looking at the smile she had trained on the woman, "Ah, _your mum_."

"Makes sense – my mum would be her mum; but how?"

"Random genetic mess, this universe – every so often the same face pops up on another body. Bound to happen and it only makes sense _that_ face would make _this_ face," he glanced at her, pausing to smile as he looked her over in that way that made her heart skip, and then explained, taking her hand as he watched her look to the woman, "She's not your mum."

Clara laughed and turned back to look at the woman and her daughter, "Oh, I know – it's just nice, seeing how she would look now, if she were alive… and seeing them." She sighed, "Do you think Clarice knows?"

He shook his head, "I'd be willing to bet no one here knows. Look at the men – none older than around thirty five, by human standards." The Doctor smiled as he continued, "Orla's probably not even her real name, just the moniker she took on after years of hiding out in these woods; hiding out amongst the orphans of villagers who raged a war against the _invaders_. A whole generation growing up under her watchful eye anyways." He nodded respectfully towards her and told Clara, "Always their _proper_ Queen; even without the crown or the castle or the title."

"She's just being their mum," Clara sighed, looking to the boys who found their Tardis, now approaching the woman and Clarice, sitting beside them to engage in new conversation.

With a grin, he asked, "And isn't that what a good Queen is?"

Turning, she bent slightly and asked quietly, "Do you really think we could get into the castle, de-activate the machine, and escape without being killed?"

Meeting her eye, he let the smirk drift from his face at the look of concern on hers and then he glanced back at Clarice and he told her, "If we don't try they'll come out into these woods and they'll find her. They'll put her in that machine and they'll turn it on without knowing the full consequences of the action," he looked to her, "They'd be tugging on a cosmic line that leads back to you, Clara." Nodding shortly, he finished, "Clarice might not be the only version of you that ends with the effort."


	5. Chapter 5

Orla approached them slowly, hands clasped in front of her, a small grin on her lips. Clarice and the boys trailed behind her eagerly and Clara got the impression that these boys followed Orla around a lot. She knew the sentiment well – orphaned and looking for someone to lead them. Artie wasn't too different, always looking to impress, always a few steps behind her to ask her opinion of a book, or a song, and looking upon her with hopeful eyes because he needed the affirmation of a mother and she tried her best to give it to him.

"The boys have offered their tent for the night," Orla nodded.

"If we can sleep in the blue box," Hansel added quickly as Moff grinned.

Laugh easily on his lips, the Doctor shook his head, "Far too dangerous…"

They groaned and Clara tugged at his arm.

He opened his mouth and looked to Clara to finish, "As it stands! I'll have to reconfigure her for the night, make sure you two don't go running through any corridors one ought not wander through… wouldn't want the monsters catching you lot in the middle of the night."

The Doctor stood as Moff stepped forward and raised a hand to ask, "The monsters?"

"Well, I travel about the universe in that box – you were right, she's a ship," he told him, tilting his chin up, "Bound to collect a few monsters here and there, hidden away – she's quite a large ship, hundreds of rooms, loads of places to… _hide_."

Swallowing roughly, Hansel rubbed at the back of his neck and then pointed, "Maybe we could guard her then; make sure the monsters don't escape."

Clara stood, grinning because she stood at eye level with the boy, and she told him softly, "Thank you, Hansel, that would be lovely."

His cheeks went red and then he backhanded Moff in the chest, "Come on, let's get a fire going – not too close though, looks like his ship's made of wood."

The Doctor turned towards them as they walked away, look of shock on his face as he started to point, "Oi," ready on his lips just as Clara snatched him by his sleeve and pulled him where Orla was leading. He turned with a scowl, "_Made of wood_, I'd like to see him try to get through that wood with a bit of fire…"

"Doctor," she laughed, "You should be thankful; they don't want to damage it."

"Like to see them try," he muttered just as Orla came to a stop and the Doctor smiled brightly, "Oh! Our tent, Clara," he turned to look at her as she gestured at the small tent, with a nervous laugh. "We have a tent," he raised his hand for a high five and she met his palm with her own hesitantly.

Orla frowned and offered quietly, "Clarice will stay with me; you're more than welcome to come with us – still be a tight squeeze, but us girls can manage."

Clara turned to bid farewell to the Doctor, but when she did, his shoulders slumped and she chuckled because she knew he wanted a sleepover. He wanted a shared tent because he liked to share everything because – she _knew_ – what was the point in an adventure if there wasn't someone to share it with. Twisting back with a sigh, she shook her head and sighed, "No, it's alright – we'll be fine." Then she smiled to the Doctor, "It'll be fun."

His body straightened and his grin returned and he ducked into the small tent, calling out, "Clara, it's actually quite roomy for a tent. Once spent a few days sharing one of these with a particularly nasty fellow – reminded me of a Sontaran, but smelled a bit of flatulence…"

Orla inched forward and took Clara's face in her palms, smiling with a small shake of her head, "Your heart, Clara…" she laughed, "Your mother would be proud of your heart."

She felt her lips tremble slightly as she looked up into her mother's face and nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened and averting her eyes to look to Clarice as Orla slipped away. A motion that took her breath for a moment before she inhaled deeply and grinned for her double, "Sleep well," she told her, "First night of freedom."

Clarice giggled as she looked to the stars, and then her face shifted, sorrow drifting over it as she dropped her eyes to meet Clara's, "Please think about your Doctor's plan; it's incredibly dangerous."

Glancing back, Clara scoffed, "So's sharing a tent with him – have you see his _bony elbows_."

The other woman tried to laugh, but found it difficult as she took Clara's hands, "I want to say it's a sign that you fell from the sky with your friend; that the resemblance that offers this opportunity is a Godsend… but it's hard to watch your face looking death in the eye with a smirk and not worry."

Clara gripped the fingers that lay in her hands and she nodded, whispering, "I've looked death in the eye thousands of times; trust me, though I'm not afraid of death – I still have a healthy aversion to it and won't go looking for trouble." She lifted her chin towards Orla, "Go, get some rest."

The Doctor popped his head out and she could see he'd already stripped himself of his coat, foolish grin plastered on his face as he raised an arm and tugged at the hem of her skirt, "Come on, Clara."

Opening an arm to drape over Clarice's shoulder, Orla threw the Doctor a look of annoyance before sighing to Clara and telling her, "Sleep," and Clara got the impression it was an order not to do anything foolish with the Doctor and she snorted at the thought, giving in and swatting his hand away.

"It's roomier than I thought it would be," he told her excitedly and Clara bent, moving through the flap he held open for her and once she'd dropped to her knees to examine the space, she laughed.

"Roomier?" She repeated, lifting an eyebrow high to meet his excited gaze.

Clara sat and pulled at her boots, shoving them into a corner. She glanced around and gave the awkward pillow a frown before the Doctor handed her his coat, rolled up, and smiled with a nod. Taking it sheepishly, Clara stretched herself out over the small space, lying on her side, feeling the Doctor doing the same just behind her in the darkness. "Perhaps," she heard him say under his breath before uttering, "Sorry, Clara?"

She turned slightly, finding him bent over her awkwardly, "Yes, Doctor?"

"There's," he laughed anxiously, voice breaking as he continued, "Not as much room as I thought…."

Clara chuckled, imagining him trying to figure out where he would cram the insane length of his scrawny body in the tent meant for two boys, and then she felt him snaking out behind her. His knees tucked themselves just behind hers and his body curled around her just before his arm dropped over her and his fingers gave the back of her hand an awkward set of taps. Swallowing roughly, Clara tried to ease the sudden tension out of her limbs as she felt him relaxing into her. Somehow, comfortably.

"Ordinarily I'd just wander about for a while, but the last few trips have taken it out of me a bit and…" he paused and then breathed against her right ear, "Is this ok?"

She opened her mouth and a squeak emerged before she cleared her throat and whispered, "It's fine, Doctor."

"Good," he shot, "Didn't want this to be awkward."

She could hear the amusement in his voice and for a moment she thought maybe he was taking the mickey out of her, but then she felt him settling his head against the lump of a pillow just behind her head and his hand clasped around hers lightly. Clara took a long breath and closed her eyes just as his thumb began to delicately stroke at hers and oddly enough, she dropped into sleep quickly and effortlessly and the Doctor smiled when he felt her breathing soften.

"Goodnight, Clara," he mouthed, chancing a light kiss to her shoulder before letting himself slip into a land of dreams where he was a proper knight and she was a proper princess. And they were battling a proper dragon.

* * *

Clarice crawled into the tent slowly, looking over the soft bedding to one side and the stack of books and clothes piled in the other. She smiled politely as she sat atop some blankets, watching Orla step inside and shake her head, reaching out to take her hand and pull her towards the bed. "You, you need to sleep – can't very well do that sitting on the supplies."

With a shake of her head, Clarice replied, "No, no, I couldn't – it's your bed. I'm sure I'll be fine…"

Tilting her head and giving her a look of sympathy, Orla restated, "_You need _to_ sleep_."

"I won't take your bed just because I'm the princess," she glanced around, "I'd rather the ground than take one more thing from a villager."

Proud smile creeping onto her face, Orla sighed, "You really are your mother's daughter."

Lifting her head, Clarice's eyes widened slightly as she dropped to her knees in front of Orla, who'd sat down and had picked a book up into her hands to finger through absently. "You knew my mother?" Clarice asked, voice barely audible and she reached out, shutting the book as she waited for the woman's response.

Her own hands moving to cover the younger ones in her lap, Orla nodded and stifled her tears as she admitted with a laugh, "Oh, did I." She looked to Clarice, now staring up at her expectantly and she touched her chin, watching the small smile that lifted her lips, "She was kind and she was graceful when she needed to be, but she hated the balls – two left feet that always found their way atop her husband's. The Queen loved to read and she loved to sit in the garden all afternoon, reading to the village children…"

"They were allowed inside the gates?" Clarice asked curiously.

"The gates were always open to the villagers," Orla told her pointedly. "And your mother, she spoke to royalty and commoners alike, because she understood a birthright was nothing more than a privilege and part of that was seeing to it that her people were cared for…"

"And how does one know their people are cared for if they don't have an open dialogue with their people?" Clarice finished with a nervous laugh, waiting for the woman's approving smile. Slipping away from her, she sat on the thin mattress and curled her arms around her knees. "I wish she were here now."

"What do you know of her?" Orla asked, wanting nothing more than to drift across the space between them and hold the girl with the reddened face in her arms; knowing she should maintain a distance for the safety of them both.

Clarice settled her chin to her knees, quietly allowing, "She was beautiful, it's what some of the servants who are still there say – the older ones who sneak me treats and tell me about the old days." She straightened her head to look up at Orla, "They say she had a bottomless heart, always ready for anyone who needed love. And they said she was good. It's what they say of my father as well. A small man with stars in his eyes who played games with the servant's children and helped build markets and schools in the villages." Clarice frowned then, taking in a long breath and admitting, "Sometimes, when I'm feeling helpless, they remind me that I come from them – that I come from strong and loving people who would never have given up." She glanced up at Orla, "What happened that they did?"

Shifting forward, betraying herself to hug her daughter, she shook her head and growled, "They never gave up, Clarice; they were struck down. Their bodies tossed to a fire in these very woods alongside all those who died the day they took the castle." She stroked at her daughter's hair, watching the silent tears that rolled over her cheeks. "They would never have given up on you; they loved you far too much."

She smiled then, tilting into the woman and Orla let her drop into her lap, fingers slowly sliding over the thick head of hair before her, waiting until her eyes began to close to hum the lullaby she used to use to put the girl to sleep. Orla could hear the coughing of grown men outside and she thought about the identical stranger in the other tent, hoping the odd man had a good plan.


	6. Chapter 6

Clara sighed as Clarice tightened the red dress at her waist and she smoothed her hands over the soft fabric, offering a small smile to the anxious look the other woman was giving her. She'd refused to take her clothing in return, and stood in a similar outfit just behind her, this one a deep blue, one arm crossed at her stomach, thumb tucked between her teeth and Clara managed a chuckle. Dressed the same, they were now eerily identical and for a moment she thought maybe the Doctor's half-plan might work, at least to get them inside.

The flap of the large tent opened and Orla stepped in, a ragged breath escaping her as the two women turned to look at her; both lifting their eyebrows curiously and Orla steeled herself against the emotional turmoil Clara knew she was feeling. She was feeling it as well because she'd spotted that small swell of pride in her eyes at seeing the both of them, and she reminded herself – the woman was not her mother.

"Your man isn't taking as well to the change," she offered Clara, with a small smile.

Releasing a huff of laughter, Clara replied, "You'd think, with his _keen_ sense of fashion, he'd be eager to try on a new cloak."

"He complains that it chafes where one ought not to chafe," Orla whispered.

Clara smiled deviously and she took hold of the dress, rushing past the other women to slip through the opening of the tent to find the Doctor tugging at the black trousers he now wore as he walked awkwardly towards her, lifting his head to start, "I really don't see why I couldn't just keep my oth…" and he stopped, seeing her giggling at him. With a odd shift of his leg, he stood straighter and eyed her a moment before grinning, "Clara."

Clarice stepped out and the Doctor turned to look at her and the smugness left him as he looked between the two and gulped slightly before whipping his Sonic out and as he did, Clara snatched it away and scoffed, "Can't tell us apart, can you."

"Of course I can, _Clara_." Then he considered her, watching her grin before narrowing his eyes at her and telling her plainly, "It is you because only _you_ would find as much humor in this as you are – and I know you came out to enthusiastically mock my attire."

Clarice shrugged, "I don't know, Doctor, it is quite fanciful – even for you."

"Oh, don't _you_ start," he pointed, "Clara, Sonic."

"I reckon a full day and we'd drive him properly bonkers," Clara called back to Clarice.

"Properly," Clarice repeated.

The Doctor slipped his Sonic out from her hands and pocketed it in the sheath at his waist meant for a dagger and then he pointed at her and then at Clarice and then at Orla, and muttered, "I blame you."

"How am I to blame?" Orla laughed, coming to stand between the women before she took in the look he gave her and understood what he knew. Demeanor changing swiftly, Orla turned to Clara and raised her hands to her shoulders to ask quickly, "Are you sure you want to chance this?"

With a look to Clarice, who was watching her, a bit of terror wrinkling her forehead as she chewed her bottom lip lightly, she nodded, "Worst that happens is I get beheaded."

"That's not the worst Morda could do to you," Clarice told her quietly, "We hear the cries from the dungeon on some nights – there are rumors about how long she'll keep a captive." She looked to the ground, "I've been kept almost twenty four years."

Clara reluctantly moved out of Orla's grasp and she hugged Clarice tightly, telling her, "We'll destroy the machine and then come back for you – you can have the life you were meant to," and the look the Doctor gave the ground wasn't lost on her. Her echoes existed to save him, not the other way around.

"Be careful," Clarice whispered to her, hands clutching at her back desperately.

"Orla?" The Doctor questioned, watching the woman wipe at tears as she looked to the two women now separating, hands tangling into one final caress of support. "Is there anything we should know about the castle?"

She turned to him, shaking her head slightly, before offering, "You should take other men."

Shaking his head, he explained plainly, "You know the plan – I'm a rebeller rebelling against the rebellion – easy enough as one man; if there are too many it becomes suspicious."

"You'll be suspicious the minute you show up claiming to have the princess," Orla responded, "Take Mallory, or Horace – they're the strongest."

The two men in question came to stand at her sides, both ready with spears and stern faces, but the Doctor merely smiled and responded, "Your strongest should prepare; if we're successful, there's bound to be repercussions and I have no doubts they'll be coming your way."

He reached out and Clara took his hand, a smile ready for him until he sighed and pulled a length of rope from the table beside them and motioned for her to offer the other hand. She might have made a joke, except she didn't like the notion of walking into the lion's den with her hands literally tied and she waited until he'd secured her wrists tightly to meet his eye and then sigh as they went to find the horse Clarice had ridden into the Tardis on.

Orla stepped up and touched the Doctor's elbow, and when he turned, she straightened the collar on his clothes, touching the thin sheets of armor hanging at his back and chest, tied on with twine and he understood – these were the means with which they'd be fighting. They were the uniforms of soldiers unprepared for battle. She laid her palms at his shoulders and she gave him a quiet nod to Clara, "You bring her back."

Tilting his head forward, he whispered, "Orla, _she's_ not your daughter."

"You bring her back anyways, Doctor," the woman commanded, voice barely audible over the sound of birds waking with the morning.

He nodded, telling her assuredly, "I have no intentions of losing her."

The woman smiled knowingly and slipped back, watching the other men hoist the Doctor up on his horse where he was handed the end of the rope and he gave the horse a gentle kick, urging him on. Beside him, Clara was tugged forward and she passed one last glance back at Orla, who had gone back to Clarice's side, and she smiled, watching them until they disappeared into the fog.

* * *

Sloren felt the slap across his face more roughly than if it had been received by any of the other guardsmen, but he didn't recoil, only closed his eyes and absorbed the pain before opening his eyes and looking up to the woman he'd disappointed. She'd gone red in the face, turning away from him to pace back up and down the stairs in front of her throne a moment before looking out at the men who awaited new orders and she shouted, "A child. A lost and lonely little girl who's spent her days roaming about the castle learning nothing and you can't find her."

"The forest is a dangerous place at night, the rebels…" Sloren began, hand rising slightly.

"We'll find her the way we did before," she smiled, interrupting, "And if she happens to be amongst rebels, then you'll just have to cut them down like you were trained to do."

With a slow nod, Sloren turned, a hand cutting the air slowly to signal his men to follow, but as he reached the doors, they burst open, a castle guard standing with his breath caught in his throat – as if he'd run. He eyed Sloren and then looked to the Queen, who had sunken into her throne, and moved quietly past the contingent of men towards her. Offering a bow, he straightened when she sucked her teeth and then he told her quickly, "There's a man at the gate who claims to have the princess."

Morda straightened and she barked, "Well, _bring them in_!"

A hand coming up into the castle guard's chest, Sloren tilted his head and smiled, "I'll do the honors, your majesty."

Smile easy on her face, the woman replied, "Yes, Sloren – fitting, please escort in the man who was capable of doing what you and a thousand others weren't."

He turned swiftly, moving past his men and when he swung his head around and glared, they knew they were to return to their posts immediately. Listening to the clanks of metal and the stomps of boots, Sloren made his way through the large stone hallways towards the front gate, feeling the castle guard rushing to keep up with him and he did his best not to grin, knowing in just a few moments he would see that she was safe. And if the man who'd brought her had harmed one hair on her head, he would kill that man himself.

As he approached the large wooden double doors, the castle guards on either side pulled them open and he moved out over the muddy ground, motioning to the guards at the outer gates. One hand lay heavily on his sword, the other on the weaponry they'd all been told to conserve, Sloren prepared himself for a monster of a man and when the gates opened fully and he spotted the awkward fellow atop Clarice's horse, he grimaced.

And then he dropped his eyes to her, hands bound in front of her, face glistening with the morning dew and he couldn't help the grin that fluttered over his lips just before he bowed his head and took several steps forward, commanding, "The Queen would like to offer her regards."

"Oh, _brilliant_," the Doctor smiled as the horse took several steps into the courtyard, "Regards from the Queen – always love…" he began with an automatic look down at Clara, who was throwing him a sour look that made him clear his throat and turn back to Sloren to nod. "Yes, right, I've heard you were looking for the princess."

Sloren stepped forward, eyeing him as he raised a hand and took Clara's hands in his, delicately undoing the knot before Clara turned swiftly to try and run. He caught her by the elbow, giving her enough of a squeeze to stop her, but not enough to harm her and when she shifted back at him, she was surprised to find a look of concern instead of one of anger and she sighed, clenching her jaw and allowing him to guide her back towards the castle.

Looking back at the man who slipped off the horse with a crash of armor against saddle, Sloren almost groaned in anger before shouting, "Follow me."

The Doctor gave the horse a small wave as it was taken back towards the stable and he did a twirl to see them closing the outer gates behind them and then fell into a steady pace behind the man now leaning into Clara, whispering things the Doctor couldn't hear. He smiled then, some sort of understanding in seeing the way the man's fingers gently caressed her arm and the small hint of a grin on his face as he continued to speak lowly into her ear.

"I'm sorry," he heard Clara utter at him before bowing her head.

They entered the main castle and he had to stop himself from lifting the Sonic to scan for mechanical weaponry, or machinery that would stand out. He also had to stop himself from clapping his hands together and releasing a laugh of excitement because _a medieval castle_. It was almost too good to be true and, he considered, they were dressed for the part – that _almost_ never happens. The Doctor reminded himself that, at any moment, they could tar and feather him and toss him back out and he dropped his shoulders, trying to mimic the man walking ahead of him. The man now watching Clara as she defiantly refused to meet his eye.

He seemed rejected, but before the Doctor could question it, they entered a larger chamber where a tall slender woman sat in a throne at the back of the room. The moment they entered the room, the Doctor could decipher two things: firstly, this woman was most definitely the mother of the man holding Clara; secondly, seeing the look of determination in the fierce eyes that were now trained on him, the Doctor knew this would definitely be harder than he'd thought.


	7. Chapter 7

The Queen of Dironem, now posing at the Queen of Euwan, was an eerie sight. Outside of her armor she sat in a sleek black shirt that hugged at her body, yet flowed off her backside, framing her hips just above the matching leathery pants and boots underneath – all garments, the Doctor knew, were still a sort of shield, and if he threw a spear it would do little more than bruise her ego if it managed to strike her. She had pale skin and blood red lips that smiled deviously as they entered, sparkling eyes looking them over and deciding he wasn't a threat.

With a quick glance to Clara, he felt a knot tying itself in his stomach.

The Doctor didn't know if it was the way the Queen was sitting calmly on the throne, fingernails tapping impatiently as they entered the room, or if it was the knowing look she seemed to have that sent shivers over his head and down his spine. He steps became hesitant, feeling the negative energy rolling off the woman watching them and, he could tell, Clara was off put by the same. She struggled just enough to make the Queen's smile widen as she stood, making her way down the steps to wrap her arms around her slowly, eyes closing in a manner that made him slightly sick.

"You must be a fine warrior," Morda offered as she met his look, straightening away from Clara and not looking down at her as she waited.

The Doctor bowed slightly, dropping his head just enough, but he didn't take his eyes off her. He didn't trust her and he certainly didn't trust the way she kept a possessive hand on Clara's shoulder. "Just a lucky find," he replied quietly, voice low.

"You don't sound pleased," she told him, looking upset, "One should be pleased when they come across the princess – so lost and far from home."

He feigned a smile, "Your majesty, I am pleased, but concerned for my plight."

"And what plight might that be?"

Nodding to Clara, he explained, "She wandered into a rebel camp and in the dead of night, I choose to defect to return her – but now I fear I cannot go back, nor can I venture into the village as I'd be labeled a traitor to the rebellion."

Morda narrowed her eyes at him, a small grin lifting her lips as she asked, "Are you trying to ask for a place amongst my men?"

He bowed again, and again, he refused to take his eyes off of her. "It would be an honor to fight alongside men as valiant as those who defend the crown."

"Him," she looked to Sloren to say, "I approve of."

The Doctor glanced sideways at the other man and saw how the words stung him, despite the even expression on his face – the hurt lay in the way he raised his chin slightly, lips threatening a tense grin. "I seek pity, your majesty, not approval."

Stepping closer, Morda nodded, "Then pity you shall find." She turned to Sloren and nodded, "Take him to the training fields – see what sort of man he is." Shifting closer to Clara, she told her, "I'll take care of _my daughter_, remind her of her place in this kingdom."

Sloren gulped and it went unnoticed by the woman staring at Clara – who looked to the ground rather than meet the Queen's gaze – but it didn't go unnoticed by the Doctor. He took the two steps to the man's side and told him quietly, "When you are ready, good sir."

There was a hesitation then, just before Sloren nodded and turned, striding out of the great hall and the Doctor awkwardly followed, hands adjusting the metal at his chest and fighting the temptation to give Clara one last look of assurance. He had to assure himself that the dastardly Queen wouldn't run a sword through her; he had to assure himself that as far as the Queen was concerned, she was the prize, the battery, the coordinates that would make the machine work, and he forced himself to toss aside the other thoughts jumbled in his mind.

"Will she be safe?" He chanced to question as they reached the hall outside, turning left and heading out towards where the Doctor knew he would surely have to ready himself for a test battle against, presumably, one of his best men. Where, the Doctor also knew, his plan could go completely awry if he was too easily defeated.

Giving him a look of contempt, Sloren nodded, "She's the Queen's daughter."

He smiled and risked all to say, "She's the Queen's prisoner."

Sloren turned slightly, footsteps slowing and he asked, "Did she tell you this?"

With a grin at the concern, the Doctor allowed, "She told me a few choice things, trying to convince me to set her free."

"But that she is the Queen's _prisoner_ – did she say anything else?"

The Doctor lowered his eyes slightly and whispered, "She says she has friends amongst her enemies."

He caught the man's quick smirk before he turned away. "Are you good with a sword?"

Shrugging, the Doctor touched the object hanging heavily off his waist, and admitted honestly, "Bit rubbish, actually. Better at strategies; the planning of battles more so than the competition of them." He accepted the nod Sloren offered because he knew it meant the man understood – even if he ended the test on the ground, his mind might still be of some use.

And armies _always_ needed good minds.

They moved out into the misty morning and the Doctor could hear others chatting, horses being saddled, and swords clanking against one another loudly. He nodded to the men as they moved through and once they'd found a spot on the grass none were occupying with their training, Sloren drew his sword and turned to face the Doctor, gesturing at him to do the same. With a slow laugh, the Doctor touched the handle and he pointed, "A reminder – far better at talking than fighting."

Sloren laughed, "You wish to talk your way out of battle."

He nodded, straightening and gripped the handle now, fidgeting with it, "It took but a few words to subdue your princess."

The sword swung easily at him and the Doctor jumped back away from it, struggling with his own weapon for a moment before drawing it and looking up at the amusement on the other man's face. Of course he'd used a sword before, but other incarnations – ones more adept than himself – and he gripped the sword roughly, bringing it up with a grimace when Sloren's cut the air in his direction. He shouted out when the connection shook his arms painfully and then he rushed to the side, slipping away from a second swing and a third, and he could hear the men laughing – knew he had an audience.

"He's like a weasel avoiding the mouth of a lion," Sloren called out, eliciting another round of laughter.

The Doctor raised a hand, breathing heavily to explain, "Sometimes it's better to live to have another day to fight, than enter foolishly into the fray."

"And he calls us fools," Sloren shouted with a smile.

Raising an open palm, the Doctor shook his head, "No, no, _obviously not_ – you've ruled over this planet for… what's it now, twenty three years? Obviously not fools; obviously quite adept; obviously warriors unmatched anywhere on these lands."

Striking out, Sloren crashed his sword into the Doctor's three times before responding, "So you woo your opponents like a woman?"

Shrugging awkwardly, the Doctor sighed, "Were I the woman on your mind, you'd be properly wooed."

The metals collided again, this time dropping the Doctor back several feet with a gasp of pain. "You claim to know what's on my mind – is this your sorcery? Mind tricks and word games?"

"I'm really quite clever at them – told you before, more the strategist."

Rushing towards him, Sloren slashed at him until his back pressed roughly against a wall. He knocked the sword from his hands easily, holding him with the blade to his neck, the Doctor's palms out at his sides, and he hissed, "Strategize your way out of this."

The Doctor whispered, "You look upon her as one in love, and though she may not reciprocate in front of the Queen for fear of the repercussions for both herself and you, on other days she might: a smile, a witty remark, a light touch to your hand, stolen in a garden. And you're afraid now, but not because you feel her life is in danger, you know it's not – _she's far too important to your Queen's plans_ – but because she might let slip that it was your idea to take the explosive and leap the back wall just before nightfall on her horse. Because if the Queen discovered your treachery, you'd be forcing her hand and it wouldn't be Clarice's head on a post out front, serving as a warning… it would be your own."

"Did she tell you this?" Sloren demanded quietly, turning to glance at the men approaching.

With a shake of his head, the Doctor offered a small smile and explained, "No, she spoke very little to anyone at the camp." Then he added, "Told you, strategist… and strategy merely requires attention and cunning and a little imagination."

"You mean to say you deduced these things," he gestured back, "From a few moments in the great hall?"

"I deduced these things from one look in the great hall; one look she failed to return that froze your heart in your chest and is driving your anger now, which is quite a hearty anger." He gave the man a light push and a nervous chuckle.

Sloren raised a hand, stopping his men from getting within earshot, and he asked, "What do you deduce of her?"

"What?" He asked slowly.

Leaning closer, Sloren dipped his head and tilted it away from his men to state, "Clarice."

"It might be best to steer clear of her for a few days; loads on her mind."

"Am I on her mind?" Sloren murmured, teeth clenching together.

Brow wrinkling, the Doctor replied softly, "Yes."

Turning again, this time meeting his eye, Sloren demanded, "And the Queen?"

"What of the Queen?"

"What do you deduce of her?" He smiled, slowly, testing.

"She's a solitary creature, incapable of trusting even the closest of her men – undoubtedly she's been banished from one realm already by someone she put her faith in. She'll meet her end far sooner than she thinks and it'll come at the hand of the most unexpected and for the most unexpectedly pure reason." The Doctor grinned back and nodded, "And she's your mother."

Sloren tugged the sword away from him, staring at him curiously before turning to the men and announcing, "Meet our new strategist."


	8. Chapter 8

Clara expected to be tied up and taken to a tower. She could hear the Doctor leaving the room with the soldier and just as their footsteps were out of earshot, she turned to glance at the doorway, still open. They hadn't really come up with a plan when they'd woken that morning. The Doctor had slipped out of the tent just as soon as she'd mumbled a good morning, shouting something about a toilet and she'd merely sighed in response, the warm imprint of his body against hers making her smile involuntarily in her half-asleep state. Once outside, she'd gone to relieve herself and come back to find him sitting awkwardly on a log too low to the ground, arms crossed in front of himself, offering a cheesy grin and a point.

"_You should wake Clarice, it's best we leave as soon as possible_, _and you'll need her clothes_."

Turning back to the Queen, she was surprised to feel the shocking sting of the woman's hand against her cheek, sending her twirling to the ground and tasting blood. Clara looked up and she recoiled as the woman bent over her, barking, "All of these years keeping you safe in this castle and you repay my trust by running away!"

She didn't know what to respond, she merely lifted a hand to shield herself from another attack and gasped when Morda shifted swiftly, taking a few steps away. Clara chanced to mutter, "I'm sorry."

The woman glared at her and then closed her eyes, releasing a long breath. "She's sorry," she muttered as she went to look out through one of the stained glass windows along the wall, repeating, "She's sorry – always sorry. Little princess _Sorry._" Turning to look at her, arms crossing at her chest, she sighed, "Well, _get up_."

Clara hesitated, unsure of whether she should follow the order or remain on the ground, finally pulling herself up and touching her lip delicately.

"_Now, Clara, it's best you say as little as possible once we're in the castle. The Queen will be glad to have you back and will, most likely, simply send you off to your room – a good grounding for the naughty girl_."

He'd told her the words in the midst of repeating his plan as they made their way through the thick fog towards the castle. Now she stared at the steely eyes that looked back at her, one thick eyebrow arching high as if Clara's gaze were somehow surprising and she lowered her head, turning her eyes to the ground as she clenched her fists at her sides and then brought them together in front of her anxiously. Clara listened to the woman suck at her teeth before she slid away from the wall, approaching her again and Clara winced when she lifted a hand to stroke over her hair.

"Tell me you won't do that again, Clarice," she hissed lowly.

With a small nod, she spoke, voice shaking, "I won't do it again."

Gripping her hair and yanking her head back, she sang, "That didn't sound very sincere, darling. Mother is not pleased."

Clara bit back the urge to shout that she wasn't her mother, but instead she whimpered, "I promise I won't do it again," then she added harshly, "_Mother_."

She released her and it sent her toppling forward, almost falling back onto the stone floor. Clara turned in time to see the woman smile deviously before she shouted, "Guard!" And when another young man entered, body covered in similar dark armor to the man who'd escorted them before, Morda ordered, "Take her to her room and do lock the door. The princess needs some time to think about what she's done."

The man nodded and then stepped towards Clara, hand out, and she moved with him, following quietly up a set of stairs and then down a long hallway and up another set of steps. She bit her bottom lip and fidgeted with her hands at her stomach, glancing around and hoping to see the Doctor peeking out, giving her a goofy grin and a set of thumbs to indicate all was going as planned, but all that greeted her around each corner were more dank hallways and narrower and narrower stairs until the man stopped at a wooden door at the end of a short hall just off a spiraling staircase of what felt like it might have been the highest tower.

He pushed it open for her and she gave him a shy smile, managing a quiet, "Thank you."

Stepping inside, he stopped her with a finger at her arm, shaking his head and telling her, almost pleading with her, "Do try to stay out of trouble, your highness."

When she finally nodded, he lowered his head sadly and closed the large wooden door behind her and she heard the chink of a lock sliding into place. Clara sighed, arms dropping to her sides before she looked over the room. There weren't many things, or at least not as many as she imagined a princess should have. A tall bed stood against the wall, shelves on both sides housing books and an assortment of toys Clara knew Clarice had grown out of years ago. A dresser stood in another corner and beside it, a tall mirror.

She ran her finger over the top of an old rocking horse, something Clarice probably spent hours simply sitting on as a child, and approached the mirror, frowning at herself in it. The crimson dress clung to her body and she pushed a hand over her hair, inching closer to touch the corner of her bottom lip, crusted slightly with a trickle of blood and a bit numb. With a sigh she went to look out of the window and she spotted the men below. There were a couple dozen, all separated into groups. Some were practicing sword technique and others were, it seemed, beating each other to a pulp no doubt in preparation for hand-to-hand combat.

And in a corner she could see a table surrounded by several men and she almost laughed, reaching instinctively for the scope that sat on the window sill, bringing it to her eye to look down at the Doctor explaining something over what looked like a map. With a relieved sigh, she watched him a moment, seeing the way he energetically told them about how, she knew, they were going about their war against the villagers all wrong.

"_I'll convince them it's in their best interest to keep me, at least for a time, so I can search the castle in the dead of night and I'll need you to simply stay put. Do as you're told; keep your head down; don't, under any circumstances, bring attention to yourself_."

"Well, Doctor," she sighed, tongue touching the corner of her mouth, "Suppose it could have been worse."

She shifted the scope to look at the man who'd immediately met her at the gate. He was rubbing a hand considerately over his short beard before he looked appreciatively at the man at his side, as if amused, and Clara could only imagine what the Doctor was telling them. Mockingly, she muttered, "_Use the chickens as cover; beware the bed mites; don't drink the water; and for God's sake, stay away from the pig pens_!"

With a laugh, she shook the thoughts away knowing the guard could very well be just outside the door, listening to her, and she turned her attention back to the man.

"_Are you alright? Did he hurt you? The Queen's none too thrilled about your antics. When I told you the best way to escape the castle, Clarice, I presumed you'd asked with the intention of allowing me to help. And I've told you, when the time is right… I would… You know I would… You really shouldn't have tried to go by yourself – you could have been killed_."

His words had been a hushed whisper in her ear, burning her cheek with the intensity behind them because they weren't words spoken by a guard towards a prisoner; they were words spoken as if between lovers and she understood that small smirk hidden in Clarice's lips had been for this man. This man whose name she didn't even know, who would probably be visiting her; would probably be chastising her again in private. This man would expect for her to react as Clarice would and would probably be the fault in their plan moreso than her inability to navigate the castle, or the Doctor's awkwardness.

Clara set the scope down and she moved to the bed, touching one of the posts with a sigh before dropping herself against the thick sheets to stare up at the ceiling. She inhaled deeply, painfully, and exhaled quietly, "Ok, Doctor. You'd better be quick about this."

* * *

Sloren watched the man who called himself Sir John Smith. He claimed to be a knight of the round table of King Arthur and while Sloren was unfamiliar with this king, he was certain that any king who employed this man must be out of his mind. Except, he smiled, watching Sir John examining the map again, looking for anything he might have missed, he would gladly keep him around. His plan, as insane as it might seem, made sense, though he knew the Queen wouldn't approve.

_Remove your opposition by giving them nothing to oppose_.

Of course, doing it under the guise of building defenses for the castle… Repairing the school would give them a solid fort; creating a better irrigation system would increase food production which would lead to healthier soldiers; creating an extended wall out from the castle around the closest village would create loyalty. In essence, Sir John was asking them to make a secondary army of the villagers; an army with an allegiance to the Queen. The words struck Sloren because they were similar to ideas Clarice had. She didn't understand why they were at war with their livelihood and, Sloren knew, she was more capable of being on the throne than the woman who had sat on two.

Passing a look up to the highest tower in the castle, Sloren frowned. Clarice should be there, looking down over them, but she wasn't. He worried about what Morda might have done – where she might have sent Clarice – and when he turned back, he found the Doctor watching him.

"Care for a drink, Sir John?" Sloren asked, turning to his men to nod them away as he watched the lanky man roll up the map with an awkward smile.

Considering it, the Doctor replied with an enthused grin, "Drink of the time; drink of the _planet_ – no doubt extraordinary… of course, Sloren." Then he pointed, "Unless it's wine, is it wine?"

The other man laughed, bowing his head slightly before meeting his eye and telling him, "You're a strange fellow – how did you say you captured Clarice?"

With a smile, he offered, "Told you, I merely spoke to her."

"Spoke to her," he repeated, then sighed, "Definitely have a way with words."

"Have you spoken to her?" The Doctor asked as they began to walk back towards the castle.

Sloren rubbed a hand at his forehead as he shifted to look at the Doctor, "Spoken… _to Clarice_?"

"Yes," the Doctor laughed, watching the way Sloren's cheeks went a touch pink as he turned away and shrugged off the question. "Sloren, does she know?"

The man released a laugh just as they reached the door to the kitchen and he stopped, looking the Doctor over, once more trying to decide if the man was worth the trust he felt he inclined to give. "She knows, Sir John, in the most intimate ways – ways the Queen would not approve; ways that, in some lands, would bind us for a lifetime."

"Oh," the Doctor squeaked. He smiled as Sloren's eyebrow rose and his chin lifted slightly, trying not to sound awkward as he asked, "When you say _intimate ways_, do you literally mean _intimate ways_? As in, _intimacy_? As in between _two_ persons? As in _romantically_?"

With a hand to his shoulder, giving him a quick squeeze of his fingers as he chuckled, Sloren admitted, "As in, we were talking of leaving the castle; leaving this planet," his voice dropped slightly and he stared the Doctor in the eye as he continued, "You'll speak to no one of this, Sir John – the Queen knows not of the depth of our love, nor would she approve. She would rather Clarice dead and herself marooned on this rock forever than know that I intend to defy her majesty's plans and make Clarice my wife."

For a moment he stared, mind contemplating the words, and then he uttered a simple, "What."


	9. Chapter 9

Sloren pushed into the kitchen, leaving the Doctor standing just outside, until he yanked him within, closing the door and turning to look at the shocked expression on the Doctor's face. If he'd known, he certainly wouldn't have brought Clara. If the Queen knew, she might accelerate her plans; she might throw her plans out in a fit of rage and kill Clara on the spot alongside her son. He stumbled inside and looked to the cooks who were busy preparing an army's lunch and then to Sloren, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm sorry, but did you say…" he began.

Hand rising quickly, Sloren slapped it over the Doctor's mouth and then laughed, walking to a corner and picking up a jug before pulling him through the kitchen and towards a back room, tossing him inside with a sigh. He pulled the sword from his sheath and took a long drink, pointing the steel at the Doctor's throat as he took a worried breath and asked, "Will you keep my secret, strategist?"

He considered him, and Sloren took a calculated step forward, tapping the underside of his chin as he nodded shortly and replied, "It would be in _everyone's_ best interests, Sloren."

Dropping the sword to his side, he lifted the jug and nodded, waiting for the Doctor to take it and try a sip before he told him, "The wine is for dinner – best drink for a man after training is water, though I suspect you'll be needing less of it, as the only muscle you managed to work was your brain."

With the jug held in both hands, he looked over his arms and then chuckled sheepishly, bragging, "The brain does get a good workout."

"Like to see you take out one man with it," Sloren scoffed.

"I've taken out whole armies with it," the Doctor replied curtly.

Sloren snorted, and then looked to the closed door. "You'll spend the day in the castle then, draw up your recommendations for the Queen and ready your neck – if she disapproves, she could make an open door of it."

Once the other man had taken the jug back, the Doctor touched his throat with a frown and then looked to Sloren, "Could I wander about?" He smiled innocently. "Never been inside the castle."

With a shrug, Sloren supplied, "Suppose so – steer clear of the dungeons and the high tower."

"Ah, off limits areas," he clasped his hands together and nodded, waiting for Sloren to leave him to add gleefully, "Always the first place you want to look."

Of course, he knew it was best to wait until nightfall and so he spent the majority of his day learning the layout of the castle, avoiding the areas he ought to avoid, and fixed a catapult outside. Turned out it wasn't a catapult at all and as a guardsman launched a watermelon out into the forest, he had inadvertently gained the respect of several men who clapped their hands onto his fragile shoulders, leaving him rubbing at sore spots and finding a spot inside to hide.

He just had to scamper about until he was given a room, and once inside, he just had to wait.

* * *

The door to Clara's tower had opened twice for food and she was thankful there was a sort of plumbing system inside of the small room, otherwise she'd be incredibly cross with the Doctor when she next saw him. By nightfall she was surprised he hadn't come and she'd thrown herself into the bed simply hoping he hadn't been killed. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she was awoken by a hand snaking over her midsection, pressing firmly to pull her into the warm body slowly making itself comfortable at her side.

"I'm sorry," Sloren sighed into her ear, "I can't stay long, love."

Clara winced slightly, glancing down at his fingers, fanned out over the space just underneath her breasts protectively as he began to kiss at the bare skin of her shoulder, beard brushing just enough to send a wave of gooseflesh over her. She shivered involuntarily and then laughed to herself softly as his lips worked their way up her neck and then nibbled at her earlobe. Pierced earlobes, _not like Clarice's_, she thought as she tugged her head forward, shifting onto her back and trying her best to smile up at him.

She nodded towards the window and asked, "So, he brings me back and you make him a soldier?"

Sloren leaned up on his elbow, his eyes wandering over her exposed cleavage and down to where his thumb shifted back and forth over her stomach. "He's a strange fellow."

"Tell me about it," Clara muttered.

With a shrug, he offered, "Well, he dances when he talks, arms flapping about wildly; I believe chopping his hands off would sooner stop his speech than cutting his tongue."

Clara laughed because she hadn't expected the words in response to her off the cuff comment, but also because she knew it was probably true. She looked over Sloren as he watched her, clearly grateful for her amusement and she sighed, "He was kind."

Shifting forward, Sloren delicately touched his lips to hers and Clara felt her heart quicken – if she didn't kiss him the way Clarice would, he would know it wasn't her; but she didn't know… he nipped at her bottom lip, tugging it lightly before closing his mouth over hers, diving into her as she let out a small moan, left hand coming up to grab hold of his vest. Clara let him dominate, let him guide, but the hand atop her stomach turned and slid over her, rubbing at her through the fabric of the dress unexpectedly and she gasped, shifting away from him to sit up.

She dropped her legs over the side of the bed and took several long breaths; feeling violated and also guilty because Sloren, she knew, was Clarice's. "I'm sorry," she managed, "I'm just…" She turned and watched him nodding, sitting up in the bed beside her and giving her a look of embarrassment.

"I understand, Clarice," he sighed, making his way over to sit at her side, an arm landing gently atop her shoulder, fingers caressing her as she leaned into him, laying her head at his collar. "I imagine it's not been the best of days for you."

Snorting, she nodded and then glanced up at him, "We could talk?" Then she sighed, knowing that might not be the best idea, "You could talk?"

She waited, but he was silent and for a moment, she imagined that she wasn't acting quite right and this was the man who would know, but when she looked up at him, she could see the worry in his eyes. His hand came up to her face, holding it gently in the moonlight and his thumb stroked over her bottom lip, ending at the broken skin just at the corner. Clara tilted her head out of his grasp and looked to the floor, then to the hand that dropped away from her, clenching into a fist in his lap as he muttered, "I can't wait for the day I can run a sword through her chest."

Eyes widening in shock, Clara raised her head to meet his eye and then she glanced towards the door, whispering harshly, "You shouldn't say things like that, someone will hear you!"

She certainly didn't want this man murdered on her watch; Clarice would never forgive her – and she knew Clarice would blame her. Sloren smiled, brow rising as he looked down at her, "So much concern for a witch that keeps you locked in a tower like a prisoner."

"I _am_ a prisoner," she reminded.

"Sir John says you told him as much," he chuckled, head shaking before he brought his other hand back into his lap to grasp nervously, "He says he convinced you to come back by talking to you – is this true?"

Nodding slowly, Clara pressed her lips together tightly, not really sure of what to say. _This, Doctor_, she thought to herself, _is why you_ _should always explain your plans_. She smiled because she could imagine him grinning back at her, ready to tell her with a small nod of his head, "_Plans should always be flexible, Clara_."

"You said he was kind…" Sloren sighed, watching the way her hands fidgeted in her lap as her cheeks stained themselves the longer she thought about the Doctor. He shifted on the bed to get a better look at her, at the smile twitching her lips and the distant look in her eyes. "Clarice?"

Her head came up and she nodded, "He said that as long as I remained free, the villagers would be killed while the Queen searched for me – he knew it wasn't something I'd approve of."

"Did you tell him," he began slowly, reaching out to take her hand, frowning because she flinched against his touch before letting him grip her fingers, "Did you tell him of us?"

Clara watched his thumb run slowly over her knuckles and she shrugged, then shook her head.

Sighing, he murmured, "He says he spoke to you… were the villagers all it took to convince you to return, tied and pulled behind him like a work ox?"

Closing her eyes, she turned away and sighed, lifting her hand out of his hold as she uttered, "He spoke," then she looked to him and pleaded, "I'm really tired, could you just…"

He stood slowly, interrupting her as he loomed sadly over her and nodded, "You wish to be left alone." Then he glanced to the door, "It will be unlocked and the guard has been ordered to stand down – reassigned to the dungeon in case your well-spoken friend decides to explore where he ought not."

"Why would he?" Clara asked on a light laugh.

Sloren eyed her, and then offered, "Did he speak of the castle?"

Shaking her head, she replied quietly, "No, he'd never been to the castle."

With a nod, Sloren inched forward and dropped to his knees in front of her, hands landing softly atop her legs as he looked down at them, some question lingering in his mind. "Sleep well, Clarice," he told her, swallowing whatever curiosity lay within his mind and as he looked up, Clara bent to kiss him, feeling the smile against her lips – the reassurance she knew he was needing after their awkward encounter.

When he slipped back, she sighed, eyes closed against her own wandering thoughts, and she looked down at him to whisper, "Good night."

Clara waited as he looked over her face, a smirk playing on his lips, his hands still massaging her thighs lightly, as if hoping she would pull him into the bed, and after a moment he looked to the side and stood. She watched him trudge slowly through the door and counted to herself, taking long breaths because she had to get out of that room; she had to meet the Doctor; she had to force him to solidify a plan so they could get out of there because she knew the look in that man's eye. It definitely wasn't for her and it was only a matter of time before he would find that look on her face, given easily to another man.

Standing, she moved to the door and gripped it tightly as she opened it, peering out into the cold short hallway that lead to the spiraling staircase. Clara imagined it was probably nearing midnight and she crept forward, pulling a clump of her dress up so she could quietly descend to the first hall of doorways and openings that looked out onto the courtyard that lay empty. She sidestepped quickly, pushing herself as close to the wall as possible and quickened her pace, moving down another set of stairs and then rounding a corner only to be grabbed by her waist, warm palm curled over her mouth, and yanked into what felt like a closet.


	10. Chapter 10

"Clara, it's me!"

She launched herself at the Doctor, relieved; arms wrapping around his shoulders, leaning her forehead into his cheek before dropping it down and sighing into the clothes that smelled lightly of sweaty linen and she whispered, "I thought it was going to be him."

When she dropped back down to look up at the Doctor, he was offering her a curious look. Of course he would, Clara knew – men didn't have to often worry about the possessiveness of a woman, nor the lengths they would go to prove their ownership. She imagined that man who'd just left her room wouldn't hesitate to pull her into a broom closet to reassert his dominance over her and she'd be resigned to playing along or risk having him hung or beheaded… or having herself discovered and hung and beheaded.

"Never mind," she hissed, "Have you found the machine yet?"

With a frown and a quick shake of his head, the Doctor admitted, "No, having a hell of a time just remembering the route to my bedroom."

"Mine's a straight shot… keep following stairs up until you hit a single door," she moaned with a roll of her eyes, realizing her hands were still on the Doctor's shoulders and dropping them to her sides as she suggested, "You suppose the dungeon's just… under the castle? Isn't that where it usually is?"

"Yes, but we're dealing with the Dironem," he sighed.

Clara tilted her head, "_He says as if I understand_."

With a small laugh, the Doctor pointed, "You," and then he nodded, "Dironem – humanoid, technologically advanced, good with hypnotics if memory serves. Be wary not to stare any of them in the eye too long." His hands came together in the small space between them, turning within each other just underneath her chin, "But they don't have castles – they have caves, caves they turn into defendable fortresses, so to them, dungeon could be attic or it could be the back end, or it could be the basement – all depends on how their fortress is designed, which all depends on the mountain."

Nodding, Clara replied, "So when they say 'dungeon', they could _literally_ mean anywhere."

"Precisely," he pointed, finger poking her nose as his other hand dropped clumsily into her cleavage before he recoiled and winced, "Sorry, awkward space, bit of a pinch, but _hang on_ – you thought I'd be another bloke? _Pulling you into a storage closet_?"

Clara's head hung slightly as she stared up at him, "Doctor, focus; where would they put a large machine – where could they fit a large machine, in a castle like this?"

"I would say," he toggled his head, staring up at the ceiling, "The most logical place would be the great hall, but obviously the Queen is trying to keep up appearances. Courtyard's being used for guard training. Tower wouldn't likely be a good spot as the closer they keep it to Clarice, the more she'd likely be affected by it and she didn't appear to be suffering from any sort of illness. So, you thought some other person would have yanked the princess into a closet; for what purpose," his nose wrinkled.

Clara sighed, "It's got to be a literal dungeon, beneath us somewhere – you just haven't found a door, or… if it would affect Clarice, then best to put it at the opposite end of the castle from her bedroom."

"But what would he do…" the Doctor began, still considering some other man pulling Clara into the closet, and then his eyes widened and he ducked his head, "Has he gone up to visit you?"

"If by _he_ you mean the guard who met us at the gate, yes," Clara sighed.

"But did he try to," he made an awkward gesture that sent his crotch roughly into her stomach and Clara shifted backwards into the shelving behind her, knocking several buckets against one another as they both winced and the Doctor repeated, without the motion, "Did he try to…"

Rolling her eyes, Clara nodded, "Of course he tried – and I gave him the equivalent of _not tonight, honey, my head hurts_."

"Wait, _that's_ what that…" he trailed when she landed her gaze on him. "You should go back to your room while I continue searching – just point me in the opposite direction to look for the machine."

"Actually, Doctor, it might not be a good idea to search tonight."

He bent slightly, whispering, "Why not? The longer we stay here, the better the chance we're found out and if we're found out," he slid his thumb across his neck.

Clara frowned, "I'm well aware of," she slid her own thumb across her own neck, "But the guard that'd been standing outside of my door all day has been sent down to guard the dungeon – specifically in case you go looking."

"Why would they think I would go looking?"

"Because you're new," she began before adding, "And you're weird."

"So you're saying we should just go to our rooms."

"As much as I hate to," Clara sighed, "Yes."

He frowned at the way her shoulders slumped in defeat and he lifted his hands to rub at them, watching the grin returning to her lips as her cheeks flushed. Her eyes came up to meet his and he assured, "Everything will be fine, Clara. Tomorrow I'll find a way to make them take me to the dungeon and we'll get this all sorted."

With a nod, Clara stepped out of the closet and took a long breath of the cooler night air. She gestured around the corner to begin explaining how to get to her room – should the need arise – when she turned and looked him over. "You've changed. _Again_."

He dropped his chin to his chest to glance over the darker suit, one pristine and, she admired, better fitting on his thin frame. The Doctor touched the small emblem of an alien sun, stitched in a slightly lighter grey thread at his chest and then smiled back up at her, "Ah, did I not tell you – I was made Strategist of the Queen's army, at least until she sees fit to put my head on the chopping block."

"Suppose that bloke made you…" she trailed and shook her head, beginning to turn before she whipped back and asked harshly, "What is _his_ name?"

"The," he gestured again with his hips awkwardly as she smiled, "Guy?" Clara nodded. "Sloren." He pointed at her then, "And I wouldn't suggest you get your jollies off – he's looking to marry Clarice."

Rolling her neck, Clara sighed, "I know, Doctor." Then she snapped, "And I wouldn't be getting my _jollies_ off with _him_ anyways!"

He approached her again, pulling her into a hug she knew he felt she needed. An apology for whatever had happened today, an extra squeeze and a kiss to the top of her head for whatever she would incur tomorrow; and also an assurance – whatever did happen, he was merely a shout away. Clara lifted her arms to wrap around him, pressing her ear to the middle of his chest to listen to the double beats of his heart, sighing against him before reluctantly pulling away and moving back down the hall with one last smile back at him as he stood with his hands in mid air, clenched at his chest and waist.

Almost as if he was still holding her.

Clara waved him away just before she rounded a corner and made her way up a set of steps and then another, distracted by the notion that he was probably still there. Still considering their separation; considering the possibilities of what lay ahead of them – the dangers they could face. He was always thinking about the solutions, the variables, the ends. And, she thought with a shake of her head and an amused grin, he was always still flying off the cuff as their adventures went on.

Slowing, she looked around herself and frowned.

Somewhere she'd managed to take a wrong turn.

Looking back, Clara pointed and then snaked her hand, as if around the bend and down the stairs, and then she turned back and pressed a finger to her lips. Hand falling away, she plucked up her dress and took off down a hallway and then was faced with a downward set of stairs. Shrugging, she whispered to herself, "Down and then back up again; the right way around this time, Clara."

Some part of her imagined she'd find herself back in the hall she'd started in; Doctor leaned against the stone railing that separated the hallway from the courtyard below. He'd smile back at her and she'd have to admit she'd gotten lost. He'd offer to accompany her because as far as anyone knew, she was just the princess and this man was just the fellow who'd brought her back – it would be fitting, him escorting her to her room. Except she ended up in a darkened passage that made her somewhat claustrophobic.

No, she thought to herself, she was downright dizzy.

"What…" she started, giving her head a shake just before she felt her chest constrict painfully. Clara clutched at the top edge of her dress, fingernails scraping lightly at her skin because there was a sudden quick thumping in her chest she couldn't explain, as if her heart had suddenly tripled its rhythm.

Feet dragging slowly back, she tried to get back down the hall, but she stumbled, tripping over the stone steps beneath her and falling roughly onto her backside, head smacking the ground just before she cried out, "Doctor!"

It seemed ridiculous, she knew he couldn't hear her, but she heard footsteps approaching and there was a familiar sucking of teeth that made her grimace just before she felt someone kneel at her side, fingers pressing themselves into her neck to check her pulse. And then a male voice uttered, "That's odd."

The Queen stood with her arms crossed at her chest, looking down at Clara before she barked, "Well, _what's odd_?"

Gonther jumped, saw the princess beside him do the same despite the discomfort he imagined she was feeling, and he admitted, "Probably nothing, we don't have a proper documentation of the effects of the machine on her, so it's probably nothing…"

Bending slightly, material of her pants groaning in the quiet space, she asked patronizingly, "Gonther, what's odd?"

He gestured down at her, "The last time she got this close to the machine – well, the last time she'd gotten a lot closer; she'd been inside of the room – her pulse rate slowed." He checked the hard throbbing in her neck again and admitted, "This time her heart rate's quickened." The odd man then bent to look closely at her and Clara blinked up at him, trying to focus on his features, but finding a blur of flesh instead. "It's just odd – at this rate, she'll go into cardiac arrest within the half hour."

The Queen straightened and grunted, moving to lift Clara easily off the ground before smiling back at Gonther, "Well then, better get this little princess back up to her tower; wouldn't want her to die _prematurely_." She began to move, but stopped and nodded her head at the man, "And if you get any more word on the precise location of that Gallifreyan technology, you be sure to tell me – last thing we need is a meddling Time Lord."


	11. Chapter 11

Clara woke with a start as the drapes over her bedroom window were pulled open, stunning her with sunlight and she shouted at the woman who stood, looking confused, before she pressed a palm to her chest and then glanced down at herself. Someone had changed her into a white gown and they'd tucked her into her sheets and as she raised her head, she saw the look of concern the woman there wore, fingers curling slightly as she held her hands about her waist.

"Sorry," Clara breathed, "You startled me."

"Quite a deep sleep, Clarice." The woman took a step forward, "Are you feeling alright?"

Offering a smile, Clara nodded, "Of course, I'm fine." But she checked the pulse at her wrist discretely, counting for a moment before convincing herself she was alright.

The woman shifted a tray off the chest at the foot of her bed and brought it to her, landing it warmly in her lap and then raising a set of fingers to test her temperature with a frown of concern. She reminded her of her grandmother, except, plump and possibly a bit spryer. "You were mumbling about a doctor in your sleep, over and over, sayin' you needed help, dear." She stared and then asked again, "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Clara nodded slowly, picking up a cup of orange juice to take a long drink before looking over the eggs, bread, and sausage on her plate. Her stomach growled angrily and she chuckled to herself, hand landing stop her midsection in embarrassment, but the woman only laughed with her, giving her shoulder a small squeeze before she went to the dresser to pick out a dress for the day.

"What'll it be today, Clarice?" She called, turning and grinning, "Know you love the red, but it's a lovely day for a turquoise, or even a midnight…"

"Blue," Clara finished, taking a bite of bread and smiling up at the woman holding the dress already in her hands, coming towards her to lay it out. Looking back at herself, she began to question, "Who…" then she stopped, considering how insane it would sound before finishing, "Who undressed me last night?"

"Well, I did, Clarice," the woman allowed, "The Queen summoned me, said you'd taken quite a spill." She gave her a look of interest that worried Clara. "Are you sure you're alright, miss?"

Nodding slowly, Clara met her eye and then shook her head, "Maybe the fall," she touched her back, "Might stay in and rest today."

"Well," she responded with an amused huff, "Then I suppose it'll be no dress for you."

Clara only smiled. Somewhere in her foggy memory of the previous night there was something she had to tell the Doctor, but she couldn't remember what.

* * *

Clarice opened her eyes slowly, looking up at the top of the tent and then turning to glance around her to find emptiness. She'd spent the previous day mostly observing. The camp ran under Orla's command, she'd figured out, but she came to understand that the woman was running not only a small community hidden away in the woods – she was raising up a small army. They had horses, kept in a pen nearby that they rode through the forest for trips to the village or to survey the castle, but also to learn stealthy hunting skills.

They had archers, she'd seen, archers who laughed and challenged one another with shots that varied in complexity, and unlike the ones the Queen trained, men who missed their shots weren't punished, they were offered pats on the back and encouragement to try again. Clarice itched to take up a bow again, to pitch herself atop a horse and ride through the trees. She wanted to learn how to throw a proper punch, how to shield herself from attack, how to not be afraid of the men and women who'd held her captive her entire life. But more than that, Clarice longed to be a part of this family, instead of their visitor, relegated to score keeper on a sideline.

With a frown of determination, she pulled back the blankets that had been piled atop her to keep her warm through the night and she made her way out into the camp. She could already hear the grunts and laughter through the woods of playful sport. Somewhere someone was strumming a soft melody off an instrument and she could smell cooking meat and burning wood. Clarice grinned when Hansel and Moff approached, both looking proud as they handed her a plate and a cup.

"Orla said you'd be waking up soon," Hansel told her with a nod, "Thought it'd be nice if we brought you some breakfast." He then awkwardly bowed and swung an arm out to slap Moff in the chest. The other boy looked at him in anger, but then saw the look he was receiving and he dropped clumsily in front of her.

With a shake of her head, Clarice called, "No, please, don't… there's no need."

Hansel glanced up, brow raised, "You're the princess; it's proper to bow."

She settled the cup in a corner of the plate and reached for his shoulder, urging him to straighten and when he did, Clarice looked him in the eye mischievously and offered, "Here, I'm no princess; I'm more your sister, alright?"

He considered it, looking to his shorter friend, who stood with wide eyes and a rough gulp at the thought that they treat the girl before them as a commoner. Looking about, Hansel gestured for her to sit and once she did, both boys settled themselves in front of her, staring curiously as she ate before the taller boy proposed, "I would prefer not to think of you as my _sister_, but as a _friend_ I would extend an invitation to walk to the river – Moff is the best fisher we have; he could…"

"Hansel!" Moff scoffed.

"Teach you how to fish," Hansel finished with a rough look in his direction. Nodding back to Clarice, he explained, "Everyone here has a weight to pull."

Chewing through a piece of pork, Clarice was nodding enthusiastically, "That is exactly what I would like," she mumbled at them as they laughed. "What?"

Hansel snorted, "Speaking with your mouth full – not very princess-like, eh?"

She smiled, hand coming up to cover her lips as she shook her head and then swallowed to lean forward and admit, "I've never been very princess-like, to be honest."

Giving the ground a long sigh, Hansel asked boldly, "What was it like, living in the castle? Orla says you were the Queen's prisoner – the daughter of the proper King and Queen of Euwan – but you rode a horse over the back wall."

Understanding that he was questioning how rough she'd actually had it, Clarice settled the bread she held back onto the plate and admitted, "I was raised by staff that remained from my parents; most days were spent idly wandering within the castle walls, or locked in my bedroom if I became too meddlesome." She smiled, looking to Moff, who picked at the grass in front of him, "I had a measure of freedom, but I was also under constant watch – had my own personal set of guards, but…" she chuckled, "One guard, he offered a humanity none of the others possessed; reminded me that I wasn't just a prisoner – that I was a person. He's why I'm here."

"Ugh," Moff groaned. "I bet you snogged him. Girls are always on about the snogging."

Hansel shoved him, but they all laughed. Clarice finally nodded, feeling her cheeks blush, and then her head rose quickly as she realized Clara sat in her place and Sloren would be visiting her. He'd expect her to be different with him; he'd expect her to lean into him and talk to him; he'd expect her to love him. She tried to squelch the anxiety churning her stomach, deciding to trust that the other woman would understand what was expected of her – she also decided to forgive anything she had to do to ensure her and the Doctor weren't discovered.

Clarice pushed the last piece of bread into her mouth and then looked down at her oversized plate before taking a drink of water from the small cup that sat on it, swallowing before glancing between the two boys still grimacing. With a quick nod, she declared, "Let's go fishing."

* * *

The Doctor strolled through the halls, poking his head into random rooms and emerging with sighs of discontent because most rooms were sleeping quarters for the soldiers now outside going through their rounds of the castle. He glanced quickly towards a set of spiraling steps leading upwards and moved towards them, imagining these were the stairs Clara spoke of and, he knew, she wouldn't mind an 'accidental' visitor. Except a heavy hand landed on his shoulder just as he reached them and he turned to see the curious look on Sloren's face as he looked between the steps and the Doctor.

"Sir John, are you lost?"

"Quite a bit," he replied quickly, "Where do these lead?"

Sloren remained silent, lips pressing together tightly and the Doctor knew, immediately, they were the stairs that lead to her room. He smiled as Sloren turned and nodded, motioning for him to follow with a quiet, "Those lead to an area of unimportance; we're taking a ride into the village, thought you might like to join us."

"Horses and villagers, nothing I'd love more," the Doctor told him with a rise of his eyebrows and a large grin, throwing one last look back at the stairs before they made their way to the stables where he mounted Clarice's horse again – as it was the only horse willing to take him – and they began to ride slowly into the village.

It became eerily quiet as they moved through and the Doctor watched as mothers sheltered their children and fathers bowed their heads. He looked to the men around him, all with their heads held high, helmets revealing only the arrogance in their eyes, but when he looked to Sloren, he could see the way his looked to each person and he imagined that to him these were more than just the conquered civilians of a conquered planet.

"Imagine if your two peoples could come together, form an alliance where your arrival heralded joy instead of a silent fear," he whispered to Sloren. "They are a peaceful race, you know – humans. Some issues, obviously, but they have a potential beyond anything you could imagine."

The other man turned, and he could see the smile, even though the armor, as he replied, "You speak as if you're not part of them."

"As a strategist," the Doctor told him coyly, "It's my job to step outside of a situation, evaluate it from a place of neutrality, and then deliver options with the highest probable yield." He nodded to the people, "This," he waved an arm over the now empty streets, "This could be prosperous – a union that could benefit both sides."

Sloren slipped his horse closer to the Doctor and muttered, "What you suggest, Sir John, is a proper Queen and," he lowered his voice, "She rests in a tower, destined to never see a throne."

"_Never_?" He questioned.

Glancing back at his men, Sloren admitted, "Our goal, Sir John, is to return home and Clarice…" he trailed as the men behind him chuckled knowingly, "Clarice is the key to that." The Doctor could see the look of contempt Sloren wore as he listened to his men exchange mumbles of approval and he imagined the longer he maintained his relationship with Clarice, the harder it would be for him to keep up appearances for the Queen and her men. With a soft kick, the man forced his horse forward, further from the men who followed, and the Doctor struggled with his reigns to keep up.

"How can a person be the key to returning to another planet?" He questioned, leaning towards the man curiously, because he needed Sloren to believe he was both unaware, and interested.

With a sad smile, the other man offered, "It's science magic – not my area – but from my understanding, the beating of her heart echoes out into the universe, out of this pocket, and if we can lock onto that frequency, we can use it to launch ourselves back out to find our home."

The Doctor lowered his head, because he hated to be right sometimes, but he lifted it swiftly, asking quietly, "What happens to Clarice?"

Sloren turned his horse quickly and shouted to his men, "Head back to the castle, Sir John and I have a pressing matter to attend to in the village."

Shifting uncomfortably on the horse, the Doctor looked on as the rest of the group turned obediently and began to ride back towards the castle. He set a hand to his forehead to shield his vision from the mid morning sunlight and smiled, turning to joke, "They take commands fairly well, that lot," but he was met with a small gadget beeping in his direction when he glanced back, held tightly in Sloren's hand.

He mirrored the uneasy look the man wore as he approached the Doctor and moved the device down towards his Sonic before declaring with a nod, "You're the Time Lord."


	12. Chapter 12

The water splashed roughly as Clarice gave the netting a tug, then yanked it quickly back towards her, looking down at the fish she could see in the clear waters leaping out of the trap and she murmured, "No, no, no, no, no!" as the boys behind her laughed.

Moff was the first to comment, on gasps, "You have to be faster than that, Clarice!"

She turned, netting bundled in her arms, pout on her face as she nodded, "Oi, it's only my second go; think I've done fairly well, all things considered!"

The boys fell into one another laughing as she stepped off the rocks she'd been standing on, bare feet dropping into the shallow water to come to the shore and sigh, "So what have I done wrong?"

Pushing himself up and dusting his palms off, Moff took the net from her and he smiled, offering, "Next time wait, wait until there are so many fish in the net you can't see the other side, and then… you just have to be faster," he chuckled.

She stared at him and his laughter tapered off, then she smirked and turned with a hop, back out onto a different rock, looking over the slow moving waters as she slackened the rope on the opening of the netting, taking a breath before throwing it back out. Moff landed next to Hansel and the two snickered as they watched Clarice trying to keep her balance as she studied the fish now swimming into the net with the current. Most slipped through, too small to be held back by the openings, but soon there were plenty of larger fish and Clarice inhaled sharply and she reached down and she pulled harshly.

And fell backwards into the water.

The boys squealed on the shore, but she continued to pull at the rope, letting it bundle atop her stomach until she lifted the bag out of the water and shouted with satisfaction, turning to show them the two fish that remained, flapping about inside of the net. At the shore, Hansel and Moff stood and clapped and she began to bow when Orla emerged from the woods, lips set in an awkward frown.

"Clarice," she called, and Clarice watched both boys jump away from the older woman.

"Her idea," Hansel shouted.

Moff glared.

Making her way to shore, Clarice touched the smaller boy's shoulder and nodded, "It was my idea; felt a bit useless just sitting about."

Orla nodded slowly and then looked to the bag before beckoning her closer and shaking her head, smile beginning to wipe the frown away, "Proper trio, you three." She sighed at her dress and nodded, "You'll need a change and a sit by the fire." Taking the fish, she handed them to Hansel, "Go on, prepare your lunch."

The boys hesitated, but Clarice nodded slowly and they scampered off, leaving her with the matron who was still looking her over, picking leaves out of her hair. "Are you upset with me?"

Stopping, Orla's head shook slightly and she met Clarice's eyes with a laugh, "Heavens, no, Clarice." Then she teased, "You know, a couple of brothers suit you well."

Clarice smiled shyly and then shrugged, "They don't want to be my brothers… I believe Hansel thinks himself old enough to be a suitor."

"Have you many suitors?" Orla asked as she began to lead Clarice back to the camp

"The castle is crawling with the Dinorem and I'm not allowed outside of the castle…" she began.

Raising an eyebrow knowingly, Orla replied, "And yet, you don't outright say there isn't one."

"There's one," Clarice offered.

Orla laughed, "Isn't there always."

"He's one of them though; he's…" she trailed, fingers intertwining at her waist, "He's sort of my guard; my personal guard – been that way since I was a child. But he doesn't age, or at least not like us – I've tried to ask him about it, but he doesn't want to talk about how I'll grow old and he'll still be young." Clarice kicked at a rock lightly, wary of her bare toes, "He's entirely frustrating sometimes."

Watching the way she twisted her hands together, Orla sighed and brought an arm up to curl over her shoulder, pulling her in for a half-hug while she fought the overwhelming urge to cry, feeling the warmth of her daughter's body shift into hers instinctively. "Where there is love," she offered her child, "There is always a way."

* * *

The Doctor sat atop the horse in a state of confusion, looking down at the device that remained tightly in Sloren's grasp, his mind working over the words he'd just uttered. They knew about Time Lords; they knew a Time Lord was on this planet; they'd been actively searching for a Time Lord. And now they knew he was the Time Lord. Or at least Sloren did. He looked the man in the eye, searching him and finding, instead of rage or accusation, betrayal and confusion.

"Yes, Sloren," the Doctor admitted with a nod, "I am a Time Lord." Then he added, "The Doctor, and I'm here to stop your mother and save Clarice – what do you say to that?"

Tossing the device to the ground, the young man grabbed hold of the reigns of his horse and turned him, then yanked roughly as he kicked, angering the horse into bucking his front legs into the air and then down onto the detector on the ground with a loud crunch. "I say you are an enemy of _this_ crown and as such, are an ally to Clarice and me."

With a smile, the Doctor looked out over the village and then he whispered, "It might be beneficial to find a more secretive place to talk."

Returning his grin, Sloren slipped off his horse and lead him to a post beside what looked like a Blacksmith's work station, tying him and then going to retrieve the remnants of the device to hook to the horse's saddle before giving a distinct whistle. A whistle that summoned the people of the village to tentatively step out of their homes and hiding places and look to Sloren with smiles of appreciation and relief as he called, "Doctor, there is no better place to discuss the demise of Queen Morda."

* * *

The Queen was growing tired of not knowing the whereabouts of her son; she was beginning to feel a growing suspicion that he was up to something. It was a notion that had been swimming about in the back of her head with every small smile or stolen glance at a princess he should despise. A notion that occurred to her every time he chose not to meet her eyes, or actively held a block in his mind against her reading his thoughts. A notion she was tired of extinguishing whenever he turned away if the death of the princess and the destruction of the planet was mentioned.

As if he were mourning their plans before their fruition.

As if he disagreed in the crevices of his mind where his mouth refused to speak.

With a look out from the great hall into the courtyard where she could see the men returning prematurely from the village, a daily trip usually designed to remind them not to cross a hair out of line, she sighed as she failed to count her son among those who'd returned. Again, off on his own. It was usually somewhere chasing his charge, following the flow of her dress with his eyes, or rewarding her flirtatious banter with soft-spoken words of his own.

A late night trip to her bedroom

A satisfied grin on his face as he departed.

Sloren was under the impression she didn't notice the swagger in his step or the smell Clarice left on his body – the stench of human lust, just as Clarice failed to see her snarl at the way she daydreamed in the garden unaware the Queen could just as easily detect the remnants of her son's seed on the wretched girl. Morda had instructed him specifically not to become attached to the girl and he'd become her lover. He'd become the small ounce of hope keeping her spirit strong.

And she, in turn, had become the reason he remained in the village to converse with the _strategist_ in secret – the man who'd returned Clarice to the castle – and Morda knew the signs of mutiny. Even from her son. She strode out of the room and towards where the men were now hanging their helmets and beginning to break off into factions and they all stopped as she emerged into the sunlight and looked them over, fingers curling into fists at her side as she barked, "I see you've returned two men short – _was there a skirmish with the villagers_?"

One man approached, kneeling and bowing, and he offered, "Sloren remained behind with Sir John."

"For what purpose?" She cooed.

"No purpose was divulged, my Queen."

She kicked him aside, sending him crashing through a table full of swords and shields. Then she took a long breath and smiled, straightening to look out over the men again. "It's come to my attention that you've grown weak on this planet – weak and divided and forgetful of who you serve. And in the absence of a proper leader, the villages have fallen into a state of complacency. Of…" she trailed, looking skyward a moment before finishing, "Comfort." Morda gestured to her right, to a tall man with jet black hair who lead over a group of her soldiers, "You're going to travel to Fairswell. It is the least productive of the villages and will serve as a reminder." Bringing her arm back down, she ordered, "Burn it to the ground."

There was a pause and her head snapped back to the men, watching as they hurried to push their helmets back onto their heads, bustling for supplies for the day long trip and Morda smiled. It should have been done months ago, but Sloren continually spoke on behalf of the villages and their inhabitants. They'd be more productive, he argued, if we stopped killing them. Morda sighed at the thought, positive reinforcement wasn't how she'd trained him and she certainly wouldn't have him passing on mercy to their cattle.

"The rest of you who aren't essential to the castle are going into the woods. There's a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey." She looked over the men, "I want his Tardis and I want his head. And every day I don't have either of these things, one of you will have to answer for that." She felt the tingle of electricity beginning to roll from the base of her skull out into her arms and when she lifted her right, a single man moved into the air, face going red as he grasped at his neck.

She glared at him as he gasped, and she could see the others backing away, watching their fellow soldier going purple and then blue and then finally limp. Dropping him back to the ground, the Queen turned swiftly and pushed back through the double doors. She swept through the castle, small crackles of electricity bursting from each step as she moved up one set of stairs and then another, and then another, until she was swirling up around a cement base that lead her to the single room of the highest tower.

Eyeing the door as it burst open before her, she found the princess at the window, looking down over the men who were now dividing and moving in formations towards their destinations, her scope gripped tightly in pale hands as she turned to look at her. Morda smiled, lifting a finger and Clara shouted when the scope zapped her painfully, and she released it, grimacing as it hit the ground, glass pieces shattering.

"Where are they going?" She began to ask, voice shaking, struggling not to ask where the Doctor or Sloren were because she knew those would be the worst questions to ask.

Morda stepped into the room and the door slammed behind her, tilting her head to look now at Clara as she backed into the window sill, her white night gown hanging limp against her thin frame. "I've had just about enough of you," Morda hissed, raising a finger to point at her.

There was an odd tingle in Clara's stomach and then the woman seemed to offer a sigh of relief just before her arm lifted slightly and Clara found herself hovering a few inches off the ground, arms coming out to balance herself. She felt her heart throbbing loudly in her chest and she listened as the woman in front of her laughed just before she was flung backwards into the closer of the two bookshelves. Crumpling on the ground, Clara looked up at the woman whose eyes were an electrifying blue now and she gasped, feeling invisible fingers wrapping around her throat.

"We're going to remind my son of his place," Morda bent to snarl into her face, "_And yours_."


	13. Chapter 13

They entered a small pub and the Doctor smiled as the people inside greeted Sloren – as though he weren't the enemy soldier who invaded their land, but a welcome visitor they offered drink and food to while ushering him to a table. When they were seated, the Doctor looked over the plate of steaming vegetables and fish at the man now grinning with a measure of calm satisfaction, and he asked quietly, "I don't understand; you oppose the Queen – your mother."

"Neither queen nor mother is always right, Sir John."

Swiping a hand, he replied, "Doctor, it's just the Doctor."

"Strange name," Sloren laughed.

"Says _Sloren_ of _Dinorem_."

With a short nod of acceptance, Sloren took up his cup and sipped quickly, asking him then, "You know of my people then; of our planet – of how we came to be here?"

"Details are a bit fuzzy on the how, but I do know you've been sent here to be trapped."

Dropping his eyes to the table, Sloren explained, "On Dinorem there are several kingdoms, Morda ruled but one, but wished to rule over them all." His eyes went cold as he growled, "She sought power one should not have, Doctor, and for that we were banished."

"Why follow her rule then, and defy them now?" The Doctor questioned.

"Then, I was younger, a foolish boy who believed his mother knew best. And I was a bit drunk myself with the possibility of power." He smiled at the Doctor, sadness plaguing his light eyes as he continued, "I ruled over thousands of men and the loss of any meant nothing. We fought until the three kingdoms to the north stopped us, contained us, and in a flash of magic we were transported aboard out ships and banished to this pocket."

The Doctor nodded, gesturing, "And you were unable to escape."

"For many years we simply hovered in the space around this planet. Our head scientist, Gonther, trying to come up with a way to escape, but whatever this place was – for whatever purpose it was created – there were no exits we could find." He opened his palm on the table and then looked to the Doctor, "We surveyed the land and saw a world almost barren of intelligent life, mostly oceans and wilderness, but there was a magnificent source of power in a castle."

The Doctor looked at him with a twinkle of fascination in his eye as he declared, "You found the lost civilization of Euwan – mysterious vanished to the cosmos for a thousand years."

Grinning in admiration, Sloren told him, "We approached the King and he explained his ancestors had created this place to protect their peoples from the Daleks, from the Cybermen and the Zygons and all other threats amongst the stars. And it was determined our breach was accidental, but our escape was impossible. Until Gonther found the frequency."

"Clarice," the Doctor offered lowly.

"He said she was special, that she was part of a pattern of faint signals he'd noticed before during our travels and that if we could isolate it, we could trace it back. A biological cord, he explained, like the one between a mother and a newborn child, and we could follow it out into the universe."

"But why wait?" The Doctor asked, frowning because he even had to.

Shaking his head, Sloren sighed, "He said we'd have to wait until she was an adult."

He rubbed a hand over his head, "Until the echo of her heartbeat becomes strongest – when she reached the age of her creator at creation." Then he looked to the man and asked, "How old is Clarice?"

"She'll be twenty four in a few days time," Sloren allowed before asking, "You seem to know quite a bit for someone who's just arrived, Doctor."

"We arrived quite by accident ourselves, and I know because I know the heart Clarice's strives to match." He smiled involuntarily before admitting, "I travel with her – her name is Clara – and she's in the castle in Clarice's place."

Sloren straightened, "That is why she turned me away last night," then his eyes widened as he asked enthusiastically, "Where is Clarice?"

Eyeing him, the Doctor told him quietly, "She's with the Queen."

Shaking his head, Sloren spat, "That's nonsense!"

But the Doctor interrupted, reaching out to touch his shoulder to finish, "She's with her mother."

And to his surprise, the tension slipped from the young man's shoulders and he slumped back in his seat, laughing at the air before lowering his chin to look to the Doctor and say, "She's in the forest."

"How do you know…" the Doctor began, narrowing his eyes in a bewildered amusement.

"When we stormed the castle, we annihilated their guardsmen – their swords were no match for lasers and they certainly had no defenses against even the weakest mental paralysis I could cause – and when we came upon the King and Queen, they were making plans to escape through a secret passage with Clarice." He frowned then, pressing the knuckles of his right hand into the palm of his left. "Mother ordered the King executed – a single shot to the back of the skull, more merciful than most received – and then she took the child and shot the Queen."

"Then how could she have survived?"

Sloren nodded, "She was left in my care to be disposed of." Then he grinned, "And her dress was armor, just as mother's is – something Morda hadn't anticipated."

"But why?" the Doctor prodded, watching the conflicting emotions on the man across from him.

"At the time I was questioning a lot of things and it didn't seem right – murdering a King who'd offered land and peace and help rebuilding our empire. A King who knew full well how we came to be in his protected space in the universe; knew we brought the very dangers his ancestors strove to seek refuge from." Sloren raised his chin and sighed, "When I carried the Queen's body out to the bonfire just behind the castle, she begged me for help – and I told her I could not." He shook his head. "I carried her past the bonfire and into the woods and I settled her down, checked her bruised ribs, and I offered what I could – my water, a ration of bread, and a prayer."

"And you went back to the castle to continue to follow your own mother's wishes."

He chuckled, "Helping the Queen, the proper Queen of Euwan was an act of childish rebellion, or so I had thought at the time – a small penance for the deaths of so many," he trailed. "Back then I believed it was an honorable duty to be the one to secure Clarice to the machine. To save our people."

The Doctor smiled, "And then you met her."

"Morda didn't want to chance the King and Queen discovering what we knew – they were highly intelligent and though their technology was basic, they were capable. She decided to storm the castle, take the kingdom, _keep the girl hidden_, and wait."

"Utilize the resources of the planet – the grains, the water, the livestock, and the people – and ensure the princess couldn't escape her fate when the time was right," the Doctor told him plainly.

He smiled, "I was charged with protecting the child. I enlisted all of her previous servants, put her in the care of the head maiden and checked in on her daily. She was an ordinary little girl."

The Doctor leaned back knowingly, "Except she wasn't."

Sloren's laugh was automatic as he explained, "She was our prisoner and she knew it from a very early age, would avoid the guards and hide from the Queen and she was careful about stepping out of line. But when I'd step into her room, she would embrace me. As a baby she pet the stubble at my face and my name was her first word – she would call 'S'oren' and speak of 'S'oren' throughout the day, the servants would tell me. She grew up with an adoration I couldn't help but return because she was an innocent child." He bowed his head, "A child I would be responsible for killing."

"She adored you because she was capable of seeing what your mother could not – that rebellious thought, tucked away in the back of your head, hidden in plain sight, in the apologetic look you offered her every time you picked her up or smiled down at her or followed her into a garden." The Doctor laughed, "And your love for her, as innocent as she'd been at first, grew with her, unexpectedly, blossoming just as she did – and with it also blossomed that secret thought that all of this was wrong."

He dropped his fist to the table, "And it has to be stopped."

"Ah, love," the Doctor allowed, "Often lamented as the weakest of emotions is quite oppositely the strongest; capable of turning a single mind and, in turn, entire armies." He watched Sloren pick up a fork and push at the food on his plate, "How long have you loved her?"

"An easier question to answer would be _when have I not_?" Sloren laughed and shook his head. "The men will be harder to sway – the villagers don't know the extent of Morda's abilities."

The Doctor's smile slipped away and he leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table and tilting his head slightly to ask, "When you say abilities, you mean her psychic prowess."

"If you look too long in her eyes, she can bore into it. There are methods to block this, but they are difficult and for one untrained and not of Dinorem, it could cause more damage than Morda could with her prying," he took a long breath and nodded, "She can levitate objects; she can create static electricity; she can put one into a never ending sleep – a slumber I've yet to see one wake from."

"A proper witch with _magical powers_ posing as a queen as the actual queen poses as a commoner; _proper mutiny_ lead by a prince for a _forbidden love_… and now a _sleeping curse_. It's all quite a fairy tale, isn't it?" The Doctor laughed and clapped his hands to the table, then pointed at Sloren, "We could probably get a visit in to Clarice, her and her mother would be glad to know you're on their side…"

He nodded happily just before he heard the clopping of horses walking through the village outside and he rose quickly, rushing towards the window to look out. The Doctor made his way to his side and glanced out, knowing neither could emerge without being questioned as to why they'd been inside with the villagers to begin with. Sloren frowned and shifted back, telling the Doctor plainly, "Those supplies; that many men – they're going to Fairswell and I doubt it's to collect taxes."

"What's Fairswell?"

He lifted a hand and let it drop to his thigh, "It's a village my mother has been wanting to destroy for some time." Sloren closed his eyes knowingly and when he looked back at the Doctor, there was a quiet rage hidden in them as he spoke again, "She's taking charge of my army; she's questioning my methodology. She's…" his voice dropped and his eyes went wide as he pulled the door roughly and rushed out towards his horse.

Shouting after him, the Doctor rushed towards Clarice's horse and he awkwardly yanked himself up, following Sloren with great difficulty as they began riding. He called to him several times, but the man kicked at his horse, urging her to move faster and the Doctor realized with a startled jolt of his hearts – the only reason Sloren would need to return to the castle were out of fear for Clarice. Steadying himself, the Doctor calculated his movements, mirroring Sloren ahead of him as the cold burst in his chest spread over his body.

Because right then Clarice was Clara.


	14. Chapter 14

The sky above them had billowed with darkening clouds by the time they reached the castle and the Doctor immediately noticed something was wrong. He could see cages dangling in a space between the outer gate and the castle gate, both sitting empty, and he gulped, casually counting the two of them and imagining somehow they'd been labeled traitors while they were gone.

Beside him, Sloren kept a hand tightly on the handle of his sword and after a moment the Doctor heard something electronic power up and glanced to his side to see the black gun-like weapon all of the soldiers carried suddenly illuminated with blue streaks that ran through the weaponry. Some sort of laser, he knew, and he reached for his Sonic, palming it, but keeping it hidden. He ran a quick scan of the gun from where he sat and considered a counter setting as they moved through the first set of gates with a silent nod to the men guarding it, and approached the second gate.

Sloren spoke quietly then, telling him, "If there comes _any_ sign that the Queen knows of my intentions, you stay on my heel and we abandon the castle."

The Doctor turned with a small shake of his head, "I don't leave here without Clara."

"The machine can't harm your friend," Sloren responded. "It's calibrated for Clarice."

"It's calibrated to find Clara," the Doctor growled. "Either woman in that machine could kill the other, or, potentially, a million other women scattered across the galaxy, across all of time and space and that action would, most definitely, have repercussions." When Sloren turned, the Doctor raised his free hand and muttered, "I'll explain when there are less complications I have to concentrate on."

With a short nod, Sloren offered, "Then we get Clara and we leave – we find Clarice and we put them in your ship and send them off to safety while we fight."

Chuckling lightly, the Doctor only glanced at him with a sort of admiration and he nodded, continuing towards the castle gates which were now being opened as they slipped off their horses, allowing the men there to take the horses towards the stables. Sloren was still rubbing his palm into the back of his sword nervously, passing a glance up at the stairs, as if expecting Clarice to come bounding out to ask him how his ride into the village had gone. The Doctor wondered if she'd done that on any other day, the way Clara would rush into the Tardis to ask him how he'd spent the days between when he'd last seen her and the moment she'd stood in front of him again.

He smiled involuntarily at the thought of her and Sloren nudged him playfully, asking quietly, "What amuses you so, Doctor?"

For a moment he hesitated, but looking up into the suddenly hopeful eyes that waited, he allowed, "I was thinking about the way Clara would greet me," he nodded to the stairs, "Like Clarice greets you."

"How long have _you_ loved _her_?" Sloren asked, voice barely above a whisper as they stepped deeper into the castle, towards the great hall where Sloren knew his mother would be waiting for a report.

Giving him a knowing smile, the Doctor nodded, quietly repeating Sloren's words from earlier, "I suppose it would be easier to ask _when have I not_?"

They shared a look of mutual appreciation before stepping into the great hall to find that amusement squelched when they saw Clara standing next to the Queen, hands bound in front of her in metal chains that lead to an anchor in the stones of the flooring. Her dark eyes widened and for a moment she looked to the Doctor, before she shifted her gaze to Sloren knowing she should want _his_ help in that moment, but also knowing he couldn't give it to her.

Neither of them could.

"Go on," Morda prodded, giving her a small shock at her shoulder with a simple touch. "Greet your guard and his new friend," the woman began before adding, "Your captor. Our new Strategist who seems to want to turn our siege into a proper little kingdom."

Clara clenched her teeth and gave a small bow, uttering, "Good to see you both."

"Your Highness," Sloren said slowly to Clara with a nod and a bow as he glanced sideways to the Doctor, tilting his head until he did the same and when they both straightened, Sloren turned to his mother and asked quietly, "Might I ask why she's bound in this fashion?"

Morda smiled and it was a grin the Doctor knew well. He'd seen it thousands of times on thousands of villains across the galaxy just before a horrible plan was put into play and, as he looked to the restraints keeping Clara glued to her spot, he understood with a sickening turn of his stomach – they _should_ be running now.

"Clarice, why don't you tell your guard what you've done to deserve such treatment," Morda cooed, reaching out again to run a fingernail along Clara's arm, the contact sizzling against her skin.

For a moment she was unable to speak, the electricity stopping her nerves and leaving her with a trembling chest and a foggy mind. Then she managed, "I went looking for the machine last night."

Sloren shook his head and spat, "Why would you do that!? I've told you not to…" he trailed and looked to his mother, reeling himself back in and calmly stating, "I'll see to it that the princess doesn't go looking again, your majesty."

Raising a finger, Morda's mouth came open just as Sloren began to step forward, and she shook her head, hissing, "You'll see to it that the princess is properly punished."

"Absolutely," he nodded, giving Clara a sympathetic look.

"And you'll do it right now," Morda added quietly, retrieving and unrolling a long whip that crackled with blue sparks as it activated.

Sloren looked to the Doctor, who stared at Clara, who found herself staring in shock at the whip. Taking a step forward, Sloren reached out for the item and the Doctor understood – if he didn't, he would be seen as weak by his mother; if he were seen as weak, he would lose command of the army; if he lost command of the army, he also lost his freedom to do as he saw fit. Tactically, the best move was to allow him to _punish_ Clara.

He hung his head, listening to the footsteps cross the room and come to stand just behind Clara and the Doctor heard her shuffle, shifting around so that her back was to him now and she tugged at the metal shackles hooked around her wrists, grabbing hold of the chains and shaking her head. Sloren's gaze remained steady, meeting her eyes just before Clara turned to the Doctor and found him looking to the ground.

"No, this is ridiculous – I was just wandering; just _wandering_," she pleaded, careful with her words.

Morda nodded to Sloren and the man took a long breath and lifted the whip and when he swung it, Clara inhaled sharply, waiting for the snap against her skin. But the tail end never reached her, it gripped tightly around Morda's neck and Sloren gave a hard yank that the woman gasped at. The Doctor pulled his Sonic and immediately aimed it at Clara's chains, sending a wave of sonic energy at them and he frowned when it remained locked around her wrists.

"Doctor, _please_," she pleaded, looking beside her to see Sloren and Morda playing a sort of tug-o-war with the whip and she got the impression, by the sick grin on the woman's face, that she was going to win. "Sonic it again!"

"_It's not working_," he growled, coming up behind her, cradling her against him, one arm over her left shoulder to hold her arms still, the other over her right shoulder to Sonic them again and again and then suddenly the chains came to life with brilliant blue sparks of their own and the Doctor was thrown back as Clara received the brunt of a shock from the restraints.

"Clarice," Sloren shouted on instinct, releasing his grip on the whip to bend and pick Clara up into his arms, sweeping her hair away before hearing his mother laughing.

"So, I see you've found the Time Lord, Sloren. Or rather, he's found us," Morda said gleefully, gesturing at the Doctor. "Guards!"

Sloren looked to Clara and he closed his eyes and, in her weakened state, she understood and she nodded slowly up at him, feeling the backs of his fingers run over her face before his palm landed just at her chest, feeling her heartbeat a moment before smiling. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "We'll come back for you, Clara," and he stood quickly, grabbing the Doctor by the shoulder to yank him off the floor.

"No," the Doctor began.

"We have to," Sloren argued as he turned and punched the first guard square in the face before pulling his gun and firing three shots.

The Doctor heard swords clattering and there were more hums, more guns being activated, and he turned his Sonic as they reached the door, shutting their guns off while being dragged towards the gates. He looked in at Clara, lying on the ground, coughing lightly against the effects of being electrocuted, and he shook his head, grabbing at Sloren as they stepped into the front courtyard.

"_We can't leave her_!"

"We have to," Sloren shouted back, pointing at two horses that had just been prepped for a ride and he rushed to them, urging the Doctor to mount one as the guards inside began to clamor out after them.

They moved swiftly towards the main gates and Sloren aimed his gun, firing off a blast that burst the doors apart just as they reached them. With an apology in his heart to the woman they'd just left behind, he aimed his horse to the forests behind the castle and he rode with the Doctor reluctantly on his heel.

* * *

Morda screamed as she untangled the whip from her neck and gripped it angrily in her hand, moving to one of the windows to look out at Sloren and the Time Lord making their way into the forest, untouched. Unscathed and capable of retaliation. She allowed herself a laugh as she looked back to Clara, now trying to steady herself on her hands and knees, taking short breaths and bringing her shaking hands to her chest.

"Sloren has abandoned you," Morda growled at her.

"And isn't he _your_ son," Clara stuttered with a small smirk.

She supposed it was the smirk that earned her the rough kick to the stomach and she held it on her face despite the anguished gasps for air she was taking, lying on her side, chained hands settled at her midsection. The woman pacing around her was seething, she could see, and she understood why – her and the Doctor weren't the only ones who knew Sloren was her son and her words had reminded the woman. If her own son could abandon her; why shouldn't the other soldiers. It would plant a seed of doubt in their minds and it would give the villagers a spark of hope.

Morda sank quickly in front of her, silver eyes almost glowing as she stared at Clara and hissed, "We'll wipe that smile off your face soon enough, princess – in three days time, I'm assured, we'll be able to activate the inter-dimensional portal and leap out of this crack and back to our stars. It'll eat up your heart and the core of this planet and it'll happen with or without my son by my side. His last moments can be spent holding your corpse in his arms just before the soil beneath him crumbles."

Clara laughed. It was weak and slow and her eyes closed to drop tears to the ground with the effort, but she made sure she laughed audibly enough to turn the other woman's ordinarily pale skin red. With a small shake of her head, she whispered, "You're forgetting the Time Lord."

Straightening, Morda stared down at her with a curious look as she continued to chuckle. Clara imagined the Doctor would be infuriated. He would be riding on his horse with a purpose and Clara knew what happened when he had that anger bubbling inside of him. Where he was ordinarily uncoordinated – a jumble of limbs and gaping smiles and eloquent speeches – right now he was a sharp as any blade on any rider. He had a growing list of ever-changing tasks to accomplish tumbling about inside of his brilliant mind and at the very top, she knew, at the very tip top was getting her back.

"The wrath of a Time Lord; not something you want to incur," Clara muttered.

The woman nodded and then raised her head, shouting out for her guards and when they entered, she spoke firmly and calmly, telling them, "Gather the villagers from just beyond the woods, bring them on the orders of the Queen; I have a message for them." The men departed and Morda raised a hand in Clara's direction. With a surprised gasp, Clara's body lifted from the floor, straightening in the air until her legs dangled and then Morda approached her with a smile of her own. "Then the wrath of a Time Lord I shall incur."


	15. Chapter 15

They rode through the forest as fast as the horses could carry them and when they finally stumbled into the camp, the Doctor could already see Orla approaching curiously with Clarice. Clarice, who smiled for Sloren the way Clara smiled for him and he'd never realized… he'd admitted it to Sloren, knew how he felt about her – a feeling he kept tucked away – but he'd never realized she might felt the same, hidden just underneath the constant teasing and just behind the protective wall she kept around her heart… because Clara knew all too well what losing the ones you loved felt like and she didn't want the Doctor to become another scar.

As a result, he already was one.

One that came with being scattered to the time winds. One that reached beyond her heart, scaring her entirely and yet… every time he saw her, she wore that smile. Brightly, readily, and just for him. And he'd never _really_ understood. How could he have never undertood, he thought as he dropped off his horse clumsily, wavering slightly before composing himself.

Lifting his eyes, he watched Clarice just as she fell into Sloren's waiting arms and he swallowed roughly, chest constricting, as he watched them kiss. He bit at his own lips, jaw clenching as they broke apart, laughing with joy at seeing each other alive and safe, and when Orla approached him; when Orla glanced behind him waiting to see Clara riding in calmly on her own horse, an easy laugh escaping her at the sight of her doppelganger's reunion with her love; he found himself shaking with rage.

So when she asked, quietly, a light touch of her fingers to his arm, "Doctor, where is your Clara?" he released Sloren's name on a rough growl as he moved towards him, turning him away from Clarice because in that moment he didn't think he deserved the affection and he was ready to release a tirade against the man for making him leave Clara behind; for not fighting harder to destroy Morda; for not simply giving Clara the one swift whip that might have maintained their cover longer. He felt his stomach turn at the thought and the one that followed as he swallowed his words and his anger and stared at Sloren with a look of apology.

Because in that moment, the Doctor wanted Clarice in those shackles.

He wanted Clara in front of him.

And he staggered back in shock at the realization, turning away from the man before shaking his head and then taking several steps away. He planted his hands at his waist and chuckled to himself just as Sloren stepped to his side, knowing exactly what was going through the Doctor's mind. "I'm sorry," the Doctor told him, hand rising and then falling away. He smiled, "I'm generally more composed."

"Lost your head a moment," Sloren told him with a nod before assuring, "Doctor, _we will_ return for her."

Orla moved forward and demanded, "Where is Clara?" Sloren's eyes widened slightly and he dropped to one knee, properly bowing before the Queen and she rushed forward, covering with a simple, "Are you hurt?"

"Orla," the Doctor urged quietly, "It's high time you stopped the charade," then he nodded, "Actually, it's the _proper time_ for you to – your people will need that hope if you want to defeat these invaders."

Clarice chuckled lightly and came to touch Sloren's ear, giving it a gentle caress that made the Doctor rub at the back of his neck and look away. "Orla?"

Helping Sloren stand, Orla looked around at the growing crowd, the ones who looked from the Doctor to her to Clarice, and she settled her eyes on her daughter, seeing some hint of understanding flicker over her eyes just before she announced, "My name is not Orla," her voice left her momentarily, but Clarice's lips lifted into a smile just as her chin began trembling and she sighed, "I am Annabeth Elandra, and I am the Queen of Euwan."

Brow suddenly dropping, Clarice asked quietly, "But how? The servants, they told me you were shot, carried to a bonfire in the woods behind the castle with my father? A show for the villagers…" her words escaped her as she stood still, arms hanging limp at her side, mind working over the knowledge that her mother had been a mere horse ride away all of those years.

Clarice turned as Sloren nodded slowly to explain, "Her dress was lined in armor, enough to save her life. I was charged with disposing of her body and I…" he trailed, "She was a mother protecting her daughter," he shook his head, "I couldn't."

Annabeth nodded and lifted a hand towards him, "He took me to the forest where I remained hidden, taking in the children who'd lost their parents to the war because it was my fault…" she looked to Clarice, "It was my fault."

Chin lifting, Clarice uttered, "It wasn't your fault; how could it possibly be your fault?"

"Your father wanted to take them out of the skies – he knew of their kind and he said they'd be nothing but trouble, but I wanted a peace and so I convinced him to give it; I wanted to offer them safe land to rule as they pleased…"

"It's Morda's fault," Sloren told them both lowly. "My mother could have worked with your people, she could have found another way, but she chose war. She always chooses war; she chooses victories over…" he shook his head. "We could have had a new start here, but she seeks to take revenge upon my father."

The Doctor looked to him and asked, "Your father banished you here?"

"My father is no better than my mother; worse even – he sided with the North, took most of her army. _That_ is why she lost."

"But, banished an entire legion into a pocket universe," the Doctor spat, "What could be so terrible that he would…" he trailed. "Love."

Sloren laughed, "There was none in that marriage. All they had were strategies," he looked to the Doctor, "Strategies to win themselves more territory and eventually it turned them on one another."

"And you chose your mother," he allowed.

Turning to Annabeth with a sigh, he responded, "She was my mother."

Clarice budged slightly from the spot she'd been frozen to, and then she took another small step as the woman looked to her, watching her look her over with the fleeting glimpses of hopeful amusement in her eyes because she was no longer looking at the woman who offered refuge; she was looking upon her mother and she was unsure of what to do. Annabeth nodded slowly, eyes welling up and the Doctor watched Clarice carefully move into the woman's opening arms. He smiled because Annabeth was free to embrace her daughter in the way she'd been wanting to since they'd arrived, hands clinging to her, pushing through her hair as she leaned her cheek into her forehead.

"I've seen you so many times in the tower," the woman breathed. "So many times, watching you grow up without me or your father."

Sloren touched a knuckle to the Doctor's elbow and urged, "We should start coming up with a battle plan; Clara isn't safe in that castle – the machine will be ready soon and they will try to use her to activate it."

"Surprise," the Doctor told him suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" Sloren replied with a shake of his head.

The Doctor offered a small grin, what he could offer at the moment, and he looked to Annabeth and Clarice, "You're to gather as many of the villagers as you can. They will come together if they know their Queen has been lurking in the shadows amongst them – that will give them power, it will give them hope, and having Clarice with her – there's your monarchy. Your entire monarchy… _well_, what's left of it, having escaped these monsters, coming together to take back their kingdom." He nodded. "Your people, Sloren – yours because you are one of them now; you fight for their causes and for their Princess, _for their Queen_, have been doing it as long as you've been here – sounds rather nice, doesn't it."

The man grinned as he watched Annabeth plant a kiss to each of Clarice's cheeks. "Sounds like a fight finally worth being a part of."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, the Doctor pressed his lips together in a tight grin and he looked back in the direction of the castle before turning to back to Sloren and telling him honestly, "I'll be the first to volunteer for the war."

* * *

Clara grimaced as she stood next to the Queen on the front steps of the castle. She'd been changed, put into another proper gown – blood red with a tight corset that made breathing somewhat difficult – and she listened to the staff behind her, sniffling against the fear of what Morda would do to her. She peered over the thick fur they had draped onto her shoulders to look back at the woman who'd dressed her the night before, watching as she buried her face in her hands and she imagined what she was thinking.

To that woman, she was the little girl she'd been bathing and changing and feeding and putting to bed nightly since she'd been an infant. To her she was a daughter, not a princess. And to that woman watching her be held on each arm by a guard as the villagers were walked to the space just beyond the broken front gates, this was a moment she'd been dreading for years – a moment she knew would eventually come. When Morda stopped using villages and villagers as examples for not following rules, and began using Clarice.

"It has come to my attention that some of you think a rebellion is a good idea," Morda called out, pausing to listen to the silence that blew over the crowd in the early evening air. "There are whispers in the villages that as long as there's a Princess of Euwan in the castle, there is hope."

She laughed, coming down the steps behind her and Clara felt something cold and heavy land on her head and it took her a moment to realize she'd just been crowned. This display stood as her coronation as Princess of Euwan and properly pitted her against the woman whose hands lightly fell atop her shoulders. For a moment she feared she'd be shocked, but the hands slipped away and the woman moved up a step.

"Put her in the cage," she muttered behind her.

Clara was pulled forward and she was practically lifted off the ground, towards the cage they'd lowered. They walked her to it and shoved her inside and she fell, crown shifting lower onto her head instead of falling off and she heard a murmur in the crowd about it – _the crown stands_. She wanted to shout at them not to encourage Morda's anger, but the woman had already heard it. She raised an arm and the door to the cage slammed shut with a loud clang of metal on metal and Clara felt herself rising off the ground as the villagers gasped in shock.

She pulled herself to stand just as the cage reached the top and it swung lightly in the wind. Clara shivered and tugged on the fur they'd covered her in before grasping at the cage and looking back to Morda, who smiled up at her in a sort of satisfaction before the woman looked to the people. "By this time my men will have reached Fairswell. By the time I finish speaking, Fairswell will be no more." She smiled as she saw the plumes of smoke in the distance and Clara's grip on the cage tightened as she uttered a quiet '_No'_.

Morda touched the tips of her fingers together as she paced the top step and then gestured up at Clara before looking out over the crowd. "There is a traitor in your midst; a man I once called a great warrior. If you conspire with this man, if you join forces with him or aid him in any way, it would be considered an act of war against Dironem and its Queen, and will be met with death." Morda gestured at the cage still sitting empty across from Clara. "This is where Sloren will spend his days," she smiled to Clara and Clara understood they were to spend them together, separated by several feet of air.

Until the destruction of the planet.

She watched the woman turn, taking a long breath to start thinking about the night, and how cold it could get, and how she hadn't had a proper meal in hours. And how her wrists were still burning from the shocks from the shackles and how she really just wanted to be home, but no sooner had she started to drop herself down to her knees, Morda began to speak again and this time there was a fury in her voice.

"He conspires with a Time Lord who calls himself _the Doctor_. The person who brings me his head will receive a reward beyond anything you could imagine." She smiled and then turned swiftly before shouting, "Sweet dreams, Clarice."


	16. Chapter 16

The Doctor felt a chill in his hearts as night was falling and he couldn't help but feeling it was somehow related to Clara, though he couldn't explain why. He raised his head when he heard the commotion coming towards the camp as he worked to etch a layout of the castle onto a large sheet of paper. He settled it down next to a map of the surrounding lands, denoting where each of the seven villages sat and how many hours it would take to ride to each. They had to devise a plan to travel to each to gather together an army to fight against Morda.

"They've burned Fairswell to the ground," he heard someone say and he watched as Sloren shouted angrily in response, turning and kicking a kettle far off into the woods and Clarice came to his side immediately, taking his elbow and speaking sternly to him as he nodded.

The Doctor shivered before shaking away the cold and going to them, asking quietly, "Fairswell?"

Sloren looked to him sadly and lifted a hand to explain, "Poorest producing village; she's been looking to use them to set an example to the other villages for years. I thought she might ravage it, but _burn_ it – the people…"

His hand fell away as Clarice whispered, "Sloren's been arguing against it."

Seeing her hand meet his, the Doctor closed his eyes, his own hands clasping into each other as he accepted the information and looked up to the people entering their camp, most covered in soot. Some nursing wounds; all looking defeated. Until an older man fell from his horse and stumbled towards Annabeth, looking as though he'd seen a ghost. He bowed, dropping to his knees as he shook his head and laughed. The Doctor smiled because he understood – she'd kept herself hidden from the villagers because there would be those who remembered her face – this man knew exactly who she was and, as the Doctor had predicted, he felt relief at seeing her face after so many years.

Annabeth knelt before him and she placed her palms to his shoulders, urging him up and smiling into his old eyes as she nodded slowly and whispered, "Rise up and walk as equals, good sir."

"Oh, my Queen," he responded with a wavering voice, "How good it is to see your face again."

She offered a warm smile and looked up at the horses and wagons coming in and she took a long breath, knowing they would need more supplies and when she turned, the Doctor watched Moff grab his net, already rushing towards the river with Hansel while others were lifting snares and spears – all more than willing to head into the forest, even with the little light the moon supplied, to ensure their new guests were fed. He drifted away from them, back towards his plans and he looked over the castle, to the room Clara had been locked in and then to the dungeon where Sloren had told him the machine was being kept.

"You're worried," Sloren told him softly, coming beside him to lift the drawing and look it over.

The Doctor glanced sideways at him, "I worry about the people who will lose their lives."

"You're worried about Clara," the other man said firmly as he laid the map down and looked up at the Doctor as he grinned, "I understand what goes through the mind of a warrior. Despite all of the strategies and the obstacles, despite the careful count that has to be kept on weapons and supplies and soldiers… there's always room in the back of your mind…"

"For those left behind," the Doctor finished, looking skyward. "She's not left behind, Sloren; she's stuck in the thick of it – life hanging in the balance, and Morda still believes she's Clarice."

With a nod, Sloren allowed, "It could be her saving grace she hasn't probed her mind."

"It could be what gets her killed," the Doctor sighed.

He looked to Clarice, who had gone to help her mother with the newcomers, ushering children around a fire and leading them in a song as she stood, hands making motions they mimicked. "I've never seen her with children before," Sloren laughed. "If she'll take me…" his voice faded.

"Why wouldn't she?" The Doctor laughed.

He grinned up at him and then bowed slightly to admit, "We don't age quite the same; I'm nearly thrice her age and will still look youthful when her hair is grey and her skin is wrinkled."

The Doctor smiled knowingly and he nodded to the other man before watching Clarice reach out to take the hands of the children on either side of her, dancing with them around the fire as they laughed. Just like Clara would have done – to give them some semblance of peace after the horrors they'd just witnessed. "When we storm the castle, make sure Clarice is far from it."

He laughed, "Doctor, you know she'll want to be on those front lines."

The Doctor shifted then, looking him over before sternly repeating, "You keep her far from battle, Sloren. Keep her with the children; keep her safe."

Staring, the other man could sense something dangerously wrong as the Doctor's eyes lifted to look at the woman now instructing the children to gather closer together and she began to tell them a story. They stared, enraptured, and the Doctor thought about Clara Oswin Oswald, about how her eyes had looked up at him apologetically as she fell from the cloud – as though she'd let him down. He turned back to the plans and dropped his fists heavily onto them.

"You keep her safe, Sloren." He shook his head. "At all costs."

* * *

Her body was shaking despite her best efforts to keep it still underneath the thick dress and the furry cloak she held tightly to, just underneath her neck. Clara had curled herself into a ball on the ground of the cage and she could feel the crown still stubbornly sitting around her head, even as she laid it down to the wooden flooring. In her heart, she kept assuring herself the Doctor would return for her; in her mind, she kept thinking of a way to rescue herself, but she was at a loss.

There were two men standing guard over her, so anything foolish would be met with resistance from them and possibly a good psychic jolt from Morda. She smiled, imagining that if they did manage to make enough of a commotion, they'd be forced to take her back inside, and when they began to lower the cage, her heart began to thud loudly as she feared they had already captured Sloren and the Doctor.

But when she raised her head, she looked out through the bars at the sad face of the woman who had brought her breakfast that morning. A woman who held a small sack in her hand and reached for her fingers just as Clara moved to grab hold of the bars. "Tell me the truth," the woman uttered slowly, "Tell me you're not her."

Her mouth opened, but the cold robbed her of her voice as a wind blew over her and she trembled violently, and then she whispered honestly, "I'm not her."

The worst that could happen, she knew, was that this woman told Morda and Clara's head was mounted to a post just outside of the castle, but she knew the more likely outcome is Morda would continue to use her as a symbol. Instead, the woman standing before her shook her head, freeing her tears before she handed her the sack and then began to pull the thick cloak off her shoulders, pushing it through the bars at Clara.

"No, I couldn't," she began, but the woman was still shaking her head, leaning close enough to press her warm forehead against Clara's frozen one.

"I knew, as soon as you woke," she laughed lightly, voice barely audible. "My Clarice would bound out of bed to help me choose a dress. She'd break into a quick chatter about seeing Sloren and ask me if I thought it at all possible that the two of them could ever be free to be together and… and she _despised_ blue."

Closing her eyes, Clara laughed with her, feeling the hand that squeezed around hers on the bars. She smiled at her, nodding slowly, and admitted, "We bore enough of a resemblance that the Doctor thought maybe…" she trailed, glancing towards the guards before breathing, "Maybe we could rescue _you all_."

"Brave girl," the woman told her firmly. "Always a brave girl."

She stepped away from the cage, lips set in a frown, and Clara understood those words were said loud enough to be overheard by the guards, honest enough to be taken as a parting reminder to a fallen princess, and vague enough to be her last advice. Clara's head bopped quickly and she pulled the cloak fully into her lap before opening the sack to find a sandwich and several apples underneath.

"Hope they're not poisoned," she sighed before pulling the sandwich to her mouth to eat eagerly, ignoring the odd taste of stale bread and unprocessed meat. She looked out over the forest sadly, reaching for the crown atop her head, thinking to remove it when she spotted the small boy just beyond the gates.

Watching her.

His eyes had widened and she understood then – to the villagers she was their princess; she was their final breath of hope. If she removed the crown she passed along a sign of defeat and because of it, they would be defeated. Instead she stood, reaching into the sack and taking a firm hold of one of the apples with numb fingers and she offered him a smile he returned before chucking it as hard as she could into the air, watching him gasp and look skyward.

With a triumphant laugh, quick and fleeting, he caught it and offered a nod, taking a bite and settling himself into the ground. Watching over her. Clara dropped to her knees as she realized he hadn't been the only child. There were others, hidden by the cover of night, and they came quietly, whispering to one another, and sat in a small group, looking up at her in between small bursts of conversation and soon they were humming. A sound that both eased her heart and broke it.

Clara smiled for them and eventually she slumped back down onto the cage floor with the two cloaks, still feeling the bite of cold on the bits of her exposed skin she did her best to cover. Morda intended to destroy the planet as she blasted back off into the sky and the children now singing softly to lull her to sleep would die. Her stomach turned at the thought and she knew, drifting off, she would have nightmares of those young faces, looking up at her for hope, hope she gave by securing the crown to her head one last time before closing her eyes.

In the great hall, Morda watched as Clara slept and she peered out at the children who, one by one, scampered off to their homes, and she smiled, turning and making her way to the dungeon in which Gonther was tinkering with the machine, scratching his head. "The children in the village sing songs for the princess."

The old man smiled sadly and explained, "Children will always have hope, even when adults have outgrown it."

"They're weak, cattle to be grown to tend to the land and the animals for us until we can leave," Morda hissed, looking over the upright platform on which the princess had to be strapped. "How much longer – I thought she'd be ready for this by now."

He rubbed at his brow with a cloth and nodded, "I thought so as well, but her reaction to it last night; it's unlike anything I've ever seen before," he chuckled, shaking his head and looking away. "Certainly not what I had expected. I might need more time…"

"What?" Morda spat, interrupting him angrily.

Shrugging, he told her quietly, "It's just, it's…" he paused, looking up into fierce eyes, "It's apples and apple juice." Morda raised an eyebrow. "Clarice would be the apple juice, the diluted end results of a crushed apple, but last night, last night, for some reason… she was the apple." He shook his head, "And the readings, they're all over the place now. Instead of a singular strand reaching out to an ever changing location – we now have a mess of tethers, all fading out into the stars."

Morda took in a sharp breath and grabbed Gonther by the throat, lifting him off the ground and demanding, "Are you implying we no longer have the juice?"

"I'm implying, your Majesty," he choked, "That, _somehow_, what we have is the apple."


	17. Chapter 17

Six villages had to be reached, the Doctor checked off in his mind. The furthest just a day away with a group already on their way, lead by Annabeth. The nearest of them just minutes from the castle would be where him and Sloren went. They were the group with the most exposure to Morda and her men and, the Doctor theorized, would either be the easiest to convince, or the hardest – and he feared what he'd have to tell them if they refused. Because if they refused, they could inadvertently become a shield for the Queen in the castle.

He looked to Clarice, standing just beside a horse, hands grasped tightly in Sloren's and she was nodding slowly, eyes trained on his sadly as she listened to his instruction. She'd never been further than this camp and she was heading to a village with several men to try and convince them to join her. Clarice had never directly addressed the citizens of her small empire and the Doctor approached her as Sloren bent to offer a kiss that had the Doctor pressing his lips tightly together.

"I know we ask much of you," he told her quietly as Sloren departed, off to ready his own horse, "But you have to be as persuasive as possible; you have to…"

She leaned forward, stepping on tip-toe, and kissed his cheek, catching the corner of his lips the way Clara always did, before dropping back and smiling up at him bashfully and then mounting her horse. "I have to rule a kingdom," she said with a shrug, "How hard could it be?"

The Doctor blinked out of a memory and grinned up at her, nodding before pointing, "You are, most definitely, the boss."

"Boss," Clarice repeated curiously, "Is that what they call a ruler in your lands?"

He laughed, "It's a ruler of sorts."

She pushed her lips together and then gave a small bop of her head, telling him, "Then I will be the boss. I _am_ the boss," and she kicked the horse lightly to get it moving towards a group of men already galloping slowly into the forest beyond.

Touching his cheek, he sighed to the ground, hearing the horse that trotted towards him to look up at Sloren, who huffed a laugh and offered, "Don't forget, that one stays with me."

The Doctor gave a calm nod and then gripped his hands together, "Of we go, then."

Sloren watched him near a horse, slowly mounting it before looking over at him, worry evident on his face – worry, that Sloren knew, came with years beyond what his youthful appearance conveyed and he asked quietly, "I know very little of Time Lords from Gallifrey, but I remember a story once… a story that claimed you could never die." Sloren laughed softly, "It's one of the reasons Morda fears you."

Glancing to the two boys now approaching on foot, awkward patches of thick leather and flattened metal bowls hanging at their chests and backs, and he told Sloren, "I've lived over a thousand years, certainly quite a bit longer than you, or your mother, but rest assured, I can be killed – I am no god."

Hansel bowed and Moff crouched slightly, both raising their heads to look at Sloren and the Doctor before the taller boy spoke with, the Doctor lamented, a solemn tone he knew he wouldn't be able to argue against. "We're here to volunteer to accompany you back to the castle."

"Boys, barely old enough to think of bedding a woman, and you wish to risk certain death?" Sloren laughed, looking to see the frown on the Doctor's face.

Moff inhaled deeply and nodded bravely, to say, "Probably die anyways if you start a war with Queen Morda, at least we die honoring our parents," before whispering at Hansel, "_How would one bed a woman_?"

The other boy blushed rapidly enough for the Doctor to understand he might have begun to think about it and, thinking back on the way he'd looked upon Clara, and then Clarice, the Doctor knew why the boy wanted to follow them. He crossed his arms on the saddle in front of him and looked to Hansel as he shook the hair from his young eyes, "Only knights go into battle, Hansel." Then he looked to Sloren and nodded slowly, checking on his Sonic as the other man strode around him to pull his sword to point at the boys who began to turn towards each other, already concocting a plan to sneak behind them anyways.

"Do you swear to fight valiantly, fairly, and bravely, for the crown of Euwan?" Sloren barked at them.

They jumped and watched him a moment before they considered the question and quickly stuttered over a unified, "Yes," as they straightened and remained still as he came in closer and tapped them each on their shoulders and then asked, "Sir Moff, do you have your net?"

The boy shook his head.

Sloren glanced back towards camp, "It's one of your greatest tools, I've heard – we might be able to use your skills." He waited as the smaller boy took off towards a tent and then he looked to Hansel. "And Sir Hansel, I've been told you're handy at finding useful things."

"I am, sir," Hansel told him with a stern nod.

"At times, that includes food – are you good with a bow?"

He plucked at the string across his chest and raised his chin.

"Find a helmet," Sloren told him with a sly grin, watching the boy rush off. He turned to the Doctor, "Children fighting a war."

"They're already fighting it, Sloren – have been their whole lives."

He watched Moff running towards them with a length of netting in a sack on his back and he shook his head as he looked to Hansel, dropping what looked like a metal bucket atop his head, two holes bored out so he could see. "A child should be concerned with play things; not the death of men."

With a silent nod, the Doctor thought to the children of Gallifrey who cried as war raged around them; he thought to the children of all the ravished worlds in the universe and just how many there were. It seemed inevitable, the struggle for conquest. Sighing, he looked to Sloren and said, "Then make that future for them – for their children; for the children you and Clarice bring into this world."

They lifted the two boys onto the backs of their horses and began riding for the village.

* * *

"Sloren," came the hushed greeting from an old man as they approached the first homes, "They've burned Fairswell to the ground."

Dropping Moff to the ground gently, he slipped off the horse and gestured to the boy to tie him to a post as he followed the older man into the house. There were several townsfolk gathered within and the Doctor joined Sloren as they were ushered to a fireplace where Moff and Hansel warmed their hands.

"We've received the survivors in our camp and we've come with the intent of reclaiming the castle," Sloren told them, looking over the group to try to see the anxiety in their eyes.

The people there murmured amongst one another as they looked to the foursome and the Doctor laughed, gesturing about, "You didn't think we'd do it with this lot?" He waved a hand, "No, there are men coming from all of the villages – men and women and," he looked to Hansel and Moff, face growing solemn as he finished, "Unfortunately, children." He took a breath and offered a smile, "We seek to reclaim the throne and hand it back to its proper heir."

Again, they began to whisper and the Doctor stepped forward roughly, interrupting them with a clearing of his throat, a straightening of his spine, and a dark stare that gained him a few gulps before a small boy stepped forward and took a breath to allow, "They've hung the princess," and for a moment, the Doctor felt his chest constrict painfully, until the boy breathed, "Up in a cage just inside of the gates."

He felt Sloren's hand at his shoulder and he was thankful for his legs had gone weak. With a nod, he rubbed at his brow and nodded again. "A sign," he told the other man, "A show that she means business, and a warning not to interfere."

"We need to know if she's alright; the temperatures at night, for a human… if she's not properly clothed – she could find her death of cold before Morda has a chance to put her in the machine," Sloren admitted sadly, watching the way the Doctor's posture went rigid, as if his muscles were trying their best to keep him standing, and he looked to the other adults in the room, asking slowly, "I know it asks much from people who have had so much taken away…"

One man stepped forward, and he raised a hand slightly, telling him, "The boy was wrong," he looked to the youngster now frowning with confusion, "The _princess_ does not hang in a cage; our _proper Queen_ hangs in that cage and she has all that remains of our strength and our courage."

The Doctor smiled then and stepped forward, dropping a hand to that man's shoulder and telling him with brightened spirits, "Your proper Queen has been in hiding, living off the lands she swore to protect and she rides to another village to gather up a resistance."

There was a round of gasps as he clapped his hands together and looked to the Hansel, asking him quietly, "Hansel, accompany me to the gate to check on Clar… ice. I'm certain you're quite adept at hiding?" The boy nodded and they turned towards the door where Sloren followed, stopping him just outside.

"Shouldn't we tell them Clarice is safe? Off to another village, just as her mother is doing?"

He shook his head, "We tell them both the Queen and the princess are safely in the forest and we take away their motivation. We have to give them something to fight for and right now that's Clara, hanging on in that cage and I know, _I know Sloren_ – you're thinking we're dragging all of these people into a war with an army to save my companion – but while that is certainly a motivator, it's fairly high on my list of motivations, here's another: what fuels their machine?" He waited and smiled as Sloren frowned, "Clara, or Clarice, or whichever other echo they find to give them the tide on which to sail doesn't also provide the power and that power comes from somewhere and they're going to need quite a lot of power to jettison them from a pocket universe so think, Sloren, what churns beneath our feet, yes," he gestured at the man realizing, "I'm sorry I hadn't told you sooner – one problem at a time I always say. Actually I don't, I usually handle them all at once in a fluster of confusion, but here's _your motivation_ – if we don't disable that machine, Morda will load all of her troops – _well_, _most of her troops _– and she'll use the planet's core to blast off, destroying everything in a fit of vengeance against a people who, in her eyes, made her stay miserable and deserve to be the stepping stone off which she catapults herself back into the universe." He nodded, "Is that motivation enough?"

Sloren frowned and then nodded, going back into the home with his lips held tightly together as the Doctor turned to Hansel and pressed a finger to his lips and then began walking, glancing back at the boy who was considering what he'd just said before he rushed to catch up, a quiet, "Is that true?" escaping his pale lips.

Sighing, the Doctor nodded, "I have no reason to lie to you, do I?"

"You could be lying to save your woman," Hansel offered, brow dropping.

He smiled and admitted, "Alright, I do have a reason to lie."

"Is she your wife?" Hansel asked lightly, peering up at him.

Shaking his head, the Doctor told him, "No, she's a very good friend." The boy laughed and he followed him into the thick of forest at their right. "What's so amusing?"

The boy hopped over a fallen log and glanced back at the Doctor, telling him, "You're clever with your words and your plans…" he stopped, "But when I ask Moff, when we're out in the woods, if he's hungry and he says no – I can tell that he's lying because he gets this far off look in his eye and I know the only thing he's thinking of is a bit of meat on a stick over an open fire."

Considering him, the Doctor griped his waist and asked, "And why is that amusing?"

Turning and continuing on, Hansel called back with a laugh, "Because whenever you're thinking about her, you get the same look."


	18. Chapter 18

An hour later, they crawled up a hill within the woods just beyond the castle's broken outer gates and Hansel pulled a small scope from his belt, bringing it to his eye to peer up at the castle before nodding and handing it to the Doctor. He took a breath before he looked, finding a furry clump lying inside one of the cages he'd seen before. He swallowed roughly, waiting for it to move because he knew _it_ was Clara, covered in a cloak of some sort and when a guard came and stabbed at the bottom of the cage with a long staff, he breathed a sigh of relief, seeing her stir and slowly sit upright, back pressed against the metal bars, hands automatically adjusting a crown atop her head.

"She's alive," he told Hansel, who smiled as the Doctor looked down at him and, he realized, his own lips had parted into an awkward grin.

Picking the scope back up to his eye, he watched them lower the cage to hand her a sack through the bars and he watched with a frown as she plucked a piece of bread out and took a small nibble, looking out in his direction and he could see the exhaustion in her face as she took another bite.

"Drink up, your _highness_," the guard mocked, settling a tall cup of water between the bars and then tipping it slightly so that it spilled onto her legs.

The Doctor felt his neck burning with rage, watching her catch what she could to bring the cup to her lips to sip, breath quickening the longer the guard watched and soon she was settling the cup down, glancing up at the skies and he knew she was thinking if she was lucky, a rain would wash through and she could collect more water. Because Clara was resourceful, he thought to himself, watching her grab hold of the cage as it was raised again. She looked into the bag and removed an apple, turning it over within her palms before looking out again.

"She's pretty brave," Hansel admitted.

He chuckled, "The bravest."

"How are we going to rescue her?" The boy asked firmly, taking the scope to watch her a moment before finding the Doctor's old eyes trained on him and he rolled his eyes, "I know what you think – I'm a child; what could a child do…."

"You're right," the Doctor interrupted with a point at his face, "What _could_ a child do?"

* * *

Clara held the apple tightly because it was warm; warmer than the morning air and it soothed her frozen hands. Dropping her chin to her chest, careful about the crown on her head, she peered over the construction of the cage. Metal welded into thick wood, she could see – the only way out would be a tremendous crash, or a fire. With a smile, she thought about the Doctor and how one good blast of his Sonic could open the gate and she could jump.

"_Maybe_ he would catch me," she chuckled to herself. "Or we'd _both_ end up on the ground."

"Oi," she heard, turning sharply and seeing Hansel, and she offered him a bright smile before hiding it and looking around because it would be foolish of the Doctor to return. Hansel saluted the closest guard and then gestured at Clara and the guard snorted at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she began, but her throat constricted and she was forced to clear it roughly before nodding and admitting, "Been in worse jams than this."

Hansel cocked his head and shot, "You have?"

She smiled, "No, this is _pretty bad_; how is everyone… _in the village_?"

Nodding slowly and watching the guard a few feet away, Hansel told her with a laugh, "Everyone is well, we've… got a new _idiot_ in the village; he's keeping our spirits up."

Clara thought she might burst with excitement because Hansel wasn't there by accident and the Doctor was nearby. And she knew, immediately, he'd sent the boy with a message and she asked quickly, "An idiot, does he have any jokes?"

Hansel considered her, biting his lip before glancing again at the guard and then telling her, "Mostly he plays the drunk, but he claims if you wait one more day, you're likely to see stars." Hansel nodded, "Stay strong, maybe you'll meet him soon – he's quite a laugh."

Lifting the apple up, she chucked it roughly into the air, watching Hansel look skyward before giving her a triumphant smile as he caught it and held it tight, waving and rushing back down the road towards the village and when he reached a dip in the road, he turned off into the trees and nodded to the Doctor. The man waited and watched the boy turn the apple over in his hands.

"Told her, tomorrow – do you really think we'll be able to get an army together by tomorrow?"

The Doctor sighed and shook his head, then nodded and watched as Hansel brought the apple up to his lips, but he stopped him, taking it and telling him, "With luck, we'll have what we need… just enough to get past the guards inside and distract the evil Queen."

"But what will we need?"

"Motivation," the Doctor replied and Hansel watched him smile at the apple in his hand, as though he'd suddenly had an idea. Or maybe just an encouragement and he caught it as the Doctor tossed it back with a simple, "Let's get back to Sloren; we have planning to do."

He turned it over in his hand and looked to the smiley face Clara had carved into it with her nails and he furrowed his brow as he looked to the determined shoulders on the man ahead of him. Gripping the fruit tightly in his palm, feeling the groves the woman in the cage had left on it rub lightly against his skin, Hansel rushed to catch up.

* * *

Clarice felt exhausted when they finally reached the village and she looked down into the face of an old woman who approached, finger gesturing at her with a wag as her eyes narrowed. And then they sprang open and Clarice looked to the other men who smiled appreciatively – as though they were aware of something she wasn't – and when she looked back at the old woman, a weary smile ready for her, the woman stepped forward, hand outstretched to take hold of her ankle lightly before she released a small sob.

Shaking her head, Clarice uttered, "No, it's alright, please, don't cry."

Laughing softly up at her, the old woman sighed, "I never thought I'd see that smile again."

Understanding dawned on her and she asked, "You knew my parents?"

"They ruled this land justly," she scowled then, adding, "They'd be horrified to see the conditions we're in now," and when Clarice looked up to follow her gaze out to the people stopping to watch them, or emerging from homes and taverns to see what the whispers were about, she could see the desolation in their eyes for just a moment before recognition wiped it away. "We'd heard you had escaped the castle, but were recaptured."

Nodding slowly, Clarice called out, "I escaped…" her voice tapered and she looked to Mallory, who nodded, gesturing with a simple look at the easy audience she had before her. Taking a breath, she finished, "A spy was sent in my place – a spy who's very much in danger."

"A spy is not our concern, dear," the old woman nodded, "You are safe and kingdoms can be rebuilt."

Clarice laughed, "A woman stands to die in my place and this is not our concern?" She looked out at the faces watching her, "Since when is an innocent woman's life none of our concern?" With a frown, she shook her head, "A kingdom cannot be built on the shoulders of a population that shrugs away the decency of humanity." Taking a breath, she looked to Mallory, watching him as he kept his eyes keenly on hers, and she supplied, "We're here to gather forces to regain the castle – to banish Queen Morda and reclaim our lands."

A man stepped forward and asked gruffly, "You're asking us to fight for a commoner?"

With a small nod, Clarice corrected, "I'm asking you to fight for all commoners." She laughed, "I'm asking you to fight against tyranny; against the torment you've been living in since she's taken the throne."

"You're asking us to risk our lives," came the response.

"Lives already put at risk living under her rule – Morda doesn't care about anyone in this village, or any other village." Clarice pushed her lips together and looked over the tired eyes and the tattered bodies and she pleaded, "I'm asking you to try and get back to the life that was stolen from us – I'm asking for you to help me find a better life than _this_."

An older man cleared his throat and offered a soft chuckle as he broke through the crowd and looked up at her with a sly grin and a tilted head and he stated, "You're _asking_?"

"Yes," Clarice told him firmly. "I am _asking_ for your _help_."

The man gestured up at her, "This… _I miss these days_. A Queen who _asks_ when she should _demand_," he told those around him before grinning up at her and giving her foot a small tap of his crooked fingers, "Is a Queen who carries with her hope instead of gluttony." He lowered his eyes a moment and Clarice waited quietly, watching as he raised his gaze back to her in appreciation, "A Queen with hope for her people is one who deserves our swords."

* * *

The cage shifted as the sun was setting and Clara jumped out of the daze she'd been sitting in, watching a bird cleaning its wings on a nearby tree and she looked to the guards now approaching as Morda smiled at her from the gates. Settling her to the ground, they opened the door and reached inside, grabbing hold of her arms and yanking her out as she shouted more out of pain than protest. They took her towards the castle doors and Morda raised a finger to gesture at her with a wicked grin as she tapped the crown on her head and then laughed.

With one swift swipe, she plucked it away and whispered in her ear, "That was never meant for _you_."

She turned and swiftly began to walk and Clara was dragged behind her, legs weak and rigid from sitting crouched in the cage for almost a day and she watched as the woman ahead of her tossed the crown aside, listened to it clatter loudly to the ground, and from somewhere behind her, she heard weeping. They pushed her towards a set of stairs and for a moment her heart began to pound thinking they were taking her to the machine.

Clara struggled, trying to yank her arms free as she pushed her feet into the stones that comprised the floor and the guards tightened their grips, lifting her off the ground. She kicked then, striking at each until she was spun and struck roughly across her face, stinging her into submission as they continued down the stairs and into a damp hallway until they reached a dungeon space and Clara was cognoscente enough to look around and see it was a proper dungeon space with locked cells and chains hanging from walls.

"I'm being told there's a resistance building," Morda sighed, gesturing to a set of metal bars at the back of the long hall and Clara watched them sparkle blue just before the door opened with a loud creak. "I'm being told you're at the heart of it." Clara was tugged towards the woman and Morda clutched her jaw in her hand, squeezing tightly and inching closer to whisper, "And the funny thing is, you're not even Clarice." Her eyes widened slightly as she watched Morda smile before telling her, "It's alright, you're not the only one with a backup plan."

Stepping aside, Morda nodded and Clara was thrown into the cell, careful as she turned not to touch the bars because she knew a shock from them could do more damage than she was willing to incur. And then she heard the shuffle of feet against the dirty hay covered ground behind her. Whipping around, she looked into the shadows and took a short shocked breath as a woman stepped out and stared at her with the same wide eyes.

"Clarice?" Clara asked in a hushed whisper.

The woman gestured to her chest and stammered, "N-not… Clarice. I'm Oswin."


	19. Chapter 19

"Change," Morda shouted.

Clara jumped and turned back to the woman who was staring at them, hands gripped tightly to her hips, and she gestured back, "I don't understand."

With a wicked grin, Morda moved closer to the cage and she breathed, "Fairly simple, _dear_. The Queen had twins." She pointed, "We knew we only needed one for the machine to work, but as everyone knows, having a _spare heir_ in a monarchy is incredibly beneficial. This one was the weaker link back to you – a mistake of the universe that never should have lived to see it – and we found her in a lower room being bathed by a maiden." Morda grimaced, "_Weak_ and _pathetic_. She was snatched upon entering the castle and hidden away. Told everyone she was dead; no better sign of a barbaric nature than to kill a child, an infant barely old enough to stand on her own." Morda sighed, "Clarice, as you know, was taken from her mother's failing arms."

Turning her back to the woman who grinned maliciously, Clara tried to control the trembling of her lips as she stepped closer to Oswin, looking her over with a shaky smile. She was pale and Clara could see there was only one small window through which any light might have made it through – she imagined this woman had never seen the outside world. Her hair had been cut to her chin and hung raggedly in odd lengths and she wore an old bed gown, stained and tattered at the edges, probably a discarded remnant of her sister's wardrobe.

Smiling with honest compassion, something she knew the girl across from her had rarely seen by the confusion on her face, Clara told her, "My name is Clara."

"Clarice?" Oswin replied quietly, voice hoarse from lack of use, "You're my sister?"

She shook her head, "No, I come from someplace else."

"And _you_ come from _her_, Oswin," Morda shouted, "Enough with the niceties, swap clothes – the spare is going in the cage and this one…" she pointed at Clara, "_And you make sure it's this_ _one_! She stays here until tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Clara shouted, turning quickly.

Morda raised her chin and barked, "Tomorrow night, pet, you go into the machine."

Clara watched the woman turn, long coat swinging with her as she moved back through the hall and up the stairs back to the main castle and she stared to the ground, hearing the guards just outside shift to give her and Oswin their backs. A small bit of privacy they didn't have to offer and when she looked back at the other girl, she was bunching the fabric of the gown in her hands, ready to pull it over her head.

"No," Clara uttered, before reaching for her, brow dropping when her hand landed on the frail wrist that had begun to lift. She was painfully thin; Clara could see the faint outline of her ghostly legs in the scattered light from the torches on the wall a few feet away, and she shook her head as she felt Oswin strain to pull out of her grasp, but lacked the power to do so.

Almost twenty four years locked away in a dungeon – _and Clarice had heard her screams_.

Screams, Clara knew, of a terrified child. Screams of someone tortured, probably taken to the machine through the years to gauge her reaction to it. Probably had blood drawn regularly, probably had beatings if she misbehaved because no one knew she was down there to argue against it – not that it would have mattered, Clara knew. What could Clarice have done; what could anyone have done against Morda. She shivered as she recalled the trickle of electricity pulsing through her body at the woman's touch, and she'd been warned against her psychic prowess. If Morda wanted someone to forget they'd even seen Oswin, Clara imagined she could.

Oswin was invisible to the world, or at least, most of it.

Clarice didn't even know she had a sister, but Orla? Clara could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she thought about how Orla had looked at her when they'd first met. That initial recognition and then the way she'd clung to the both of them during her time at the camp. Maybe all of this time she'd refused to believe they'd killed her other daughter.

Orla, with the last ounce of hope she had as a mother, thought maybe, maybe just once in this mad cruel world she'd been living in, something had gone right and she had both of her daughters safe at her side. Releasing her echo and watching the arm fall limp at the other girl's side, Clara uttered, "Don't, please – they'll put you outside in a cage and you won't…" her words faltered, feeling her tears, as she finished, "You won't survive that."

Oswin's eyes, widening even larger at her defiance, looked to the hall and she hissed, "Whoever you are, you'll do as the Queen demands."

"She is not the Queen," Clara growled. "She is an invader from another planet – one who was banished for being evil and cruel; she's been as much to you, I don't understand…" but she watched Oswin drop the gown and bow her head slightly and she did.

Clara knew very well what a conditioned response was and she could see that Oswin had adapted to the life she'd been given. A life where being locked in an electrified cell was normal – a cell electrified because, Clara knew, she'd tried to be defiant before and Morda had trained her not to be defiant again. Oswin saw Clara's behavior as one that would get them both punished and Clara could see in the other woman's eyes – the punishments were not a simple slap of a frail wrist.

The woman across from her swallowed roughly and gave her a small hop of a nod, lips pressing tightly against one another before she allowed, "She is my Queen."

"How can you say that?" Clara asked angrily, watching as Oswin considered her, eyes roaming over Clara in what she knew was disbelief because, Clara was certain, Oswin was thinking about what Morda had said – that she _came from_ this newcomer she was being forced to switch with.

Oswin's lips trembled slightly as she managed, "She's all I've known." Clara watched as she reached back for the edge of the gown, slowly bringing it up over her head and holding it carefully in her hands as she waited. With a nod, Oswin offered, "If you don't, she'll come back."

And Clara could see the pleading look in her eyes as she nodded again, gesturing up at her dress. With a frown, Clara reached for the edge of the thin bow at her chest and she tugged it loose, working at the bindings until she could slip her arms free to drop the dress to the ground to turn and explain quietly, "You'll have to help me."

Waiting, Clara listened to the silence, the guard clearing his throat muted by the crackle of fire, and when Oswin finally moved, the steps were tentative. Instead of the corset though, her fingers landed against her, giving the skin of her shoulder a gentle swipe of a soft finger, as though testing her. Oswin had never been exposed to what she _should_ look like, Clara knew, and now Oswin was staring at her own body, exposed in a way it had never been before; to a mirror that held something so drastically different she couldn't help but stare in an awed daze, and Clara felt the small sigh she released against her hair.

"I've never been outside," Oswin whispered. "Sometimes the light shines just enough to reach through that window and it feels so warm, like firelight – _is that what sits in the sky_?"

Clara turned just as Oswin began loosening the corset, enough for her to yank herself free of it and toss it aside with a dirty look. She met the other woman's eyes, eyes that were comparing her chest to Clara's; eyes that were taking in the slightly tanned skin and the tautness with which it sat over muscles Oswin lacked. She stepped closer, reaching out for her hand, "I could cut my hair, go in your place… _I could_…" she began.

But Oswin laughed. It was weak and hurt Clara's ears to hear because she knew it was the laughter of someone already defeated. And she knew if the girl had tears to shed, they would have fallen then as she responded, "You might pass for my sister easily, but me?"

Clara took the light gown from her hands and dropped it over her head, reaching down to pick the crimson dress off the ground, giving it a quick flap to rid it of hay strands and dirt and she nodded to Oswin. "We could defy her together."

"She would kill me to prove a point to you," Oswin told her, lifting her arms for Clara to slip the fabric over them and her head, and Clara watched her bring them back down slowly, smiling to herself. "I was the spare, remember? Now she has Clarice and she has you – what use does she have for me?"

Clara watched the dark blank eyes that found the floor at her feet as Clara kicked off the slippers she'd been given, frustrated that anyone who could come from her could be so broken, but she knew she could be – with enough effort – and she didn't want to question what had broken this echo. Because it wasn't the solitude or the physical mistreatment or the malnourishment… her echoes had faced it all time and time again, across the galaxy. She had nightmares occasionally, ones she never told the Doctor about, but she couldn't recall this place or these girls.

"Is this the first dress you've worn?" Clara asked quietly.

Oswin's lips twitched up to the right as she admitted, "Yes, it is – was it hers?" She brought her sleeve up to her nose and inhaled deeply before asking, "Is this what my sister smells like?"

Watching the small grin that fell naturally on her lips, and the way her brow relaxed, Clara reached out to begin tightening the strip of fabric woven between small holes at the front of the dress, tightening it as best she could on a frame too thin for the dress. And after a moment of watching her hands, Oswin began to watch her eyes and Clara hoped she could see the determination in them – the will to get through this all alive and to fight when the time was right. She tied the bow at the top and let it fall lightly against Oswin's chest and she dropped her hands to her sides, meeting the girl's gaze.

"I know what you're thinking," Oswin offered, voice barely a breath as she gripped the dress in her hands, fingers massaging the crushed velvet and Clara knew she'd never felt it before.

With a smile, she responded gently, "I imagine you do."

"There's no point," Oswin lamented.

Clara nodded slowly, hearing the guards opening the gate behind her, and she reached out, grabbing hold of Oswin and pulling her into a tight hug she didn't return. Turning to press her temple to Oswin's, she whispered into her ear, "Your mum's still alive; she's still out there fighting for you – _she never gave up hope_ that you were alive." Shifting back when she felt the hand grip her around the crook of her arm, she inched back, telling her plainly, "You shouldn't give up hope either, Oswin."

Mouth sitting slightly agape, she stared ahead of her, frozen in contemplation before the second guard jarred her back into reality with a rough grab to her upper arm, pulling her from the cage. Clara was shoved to the ground and she grunted in pain before dragging herself back up to her feet to rush to the closing bars, careful not to touch them as the guard locked it and it crackled to life for just that momentary reminder.

"Oswin, please, don't give up hope," she called as they walked the girl away.


	20. Chapter 20

In the village closest to the castle they gathered slowly, like a building storm, and the Doctor watched calmly from behind a fire, Sonic held tightly in his hands. He could see Sloren trying to correct the armor the villagers had brought – some had never fought a day in their lives; others had seen battle long ago, so long that their hair had greyed and they'd watched over grandchildren – and the Doctor could see the hopeful smile he wore. He couldn't find that hope, not in that moment.

Another group returned with even more men, a few women carried bows and they joined with the archers already in camp to begin teaching as quickly as they could. These women had been archers for the King and Queen and they brought daughters and sons they'd trained up in secrecy to do the same, should the proper monarchy be restored. The youngest, the Doctor could see, was as old as Moff or Hansel and it burned at his heart that he could turn them away and they'd likely refuse to go, just like the two boys who joined their ranks, Hansel excitedly showing off his bow for a woman the Doctor knew was several months along in a pregnancy.

_For Euwan_, they would tell him.

Clarice came at sundown, walking beside her horse on which sat two older women. They were skilled in tending to the wounded and the Doctor could see in her walk that Clarice would be their first charge – feet blistered and sore from a walk she was unaccustomed to. Behind her and Mallory came what seemed like the entire village she'd gone to visit and they began to set up camps, pooling their resources and consulting with one another about dinner.

The Doctor took a long breath, feeling the anger in his hearts because these were the moments he hated what he did – the moments when a wrong had to be met with a wrong in order to make a right and he knew if Clara were by his side, she would tell him to find another way. Clara would tell him to '_app it_' and she would gesture at his Sonic and she would question why the device didn't have a longer range. Clara would tell him to fight without fighting and she would cry over the children.

The log shifted with a soft weight and when he turned, he released a small laugh of relief as he looked into Clarice's brown eyes as she reached out for his hand, taking it warmly within hers with a nod. "I would argue that we should attack tonight, but the weariness of the trips to gather is evident in your faces."

"If you wish to attack tonight; we would attack tonight," she allowed.

He lowered his head and shook it.

"That's not what Clara would say, is it," Clarice told him quietly, knowingly.

"Clara," he sighed, eyes finding the stars shining brightly between the trees, "Clara would tell me to find another way – she always knew there was; one without violence or sacrifice…" he shook his head again, "To others, at least." He could feel her forefinger working against his and he smiled, telling her, "No, we rest; we evaluate our resources and then…" he sighed.

Clarice offered, "Then we do our best."

"No," replied, shaking his head. The Doctor finished with a nod of his head towards her, "We win."

The woman beside him chuckled to herself, head bowing slightly. Watching her, her movements so familiar and knowing it wasn't his Clara; knowing his Clara was hanging in a cage in the cold of night, the Doctor slipped his hand from hers and clasped it around his Sonic in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. He could see the smile still on her lips and he asked, "What?"

"Nothing," she sighed, head giving a small shake.

"No," he laughed, "It's _something_ – what is it?"

When she brought her eyes up, smirk still evident on her face, his stomach dropped as she told him, "Your eyes, they defy your mouth – you say we'll win, but your eyes carry defeat." Clarice sighed, "How do we even begin to think we'll win, so confidently, if the man who leads us in war doesn't believe it possible."

He laughed with her, nodding, and corrected, "It's not that I don't believe it possible."

"Then what?"

Looking out at the people gathering around new bonfires, sharing bowls and stories; laughter peppering the crackle of flames and the hush of whispers, the Doctor sighed, "These people, they've been living in darkness. A darkness in which they'd lost hope and you gave that back to them by being a symbol of the very thing they'd lost and tomorrow," he looked her over, "Tomorrow you'll be the face they look to to give them strength."

She frowned, "And you don't think I'll be able to."

He laughed, "Quite the contrary, I think you'll do brilliantly because I know where you come from – I've seen how powerful even an echo of Clara can be." He watched her turn away, uncomfortable with the term, and he called, "Clarice, you're as real as anyone else here; you're just as whole."

"An echo fades," she muttered. "An echo begins strong and then it slowly disappears." She turned towards him and asked boldly, "You said you've seen others – what happened to them?"

He frowned, gaze drifting to the ground and just as he shifted up to answer her, there was a commotion of gasps and the Doctor knew – Annabeth had returned. She'd returned to a people who thought her dead and she'd returned with the lion's share of villagers carrying shields and weaponry on wagons. Enough that Sloren and Mallory let out a unified cheer as they began sorting and strategizing.

Standing, the Doctor made his way towards her and he watched as she looked out over the crowd from atop her horse, shoulders held high, jaw clenched as she took a count in her head and the Doctor understood by the frown that flickered across her face that she was the only other who understood what he did – people would die tomorrow in what would not be an easy battle.

"Your majesty," he offered.

She grinned down at him and then slid off her horse to embrace Clarice, an embrace that lingered and the Doctor watched the woman close her eyes against the notion that her own daughter might be lost again the very next day, but not to a tower. When she finally raised her head to meet his gaze, she nodded and told him plainly, "It didn't take much convincing."

He offered an arm that the Queen took, and he led her away as Clarice drifted towards Sloren, the Doctor asking in a whisper, "Why is it you haven't attempted to take back the castle before?"

"You think me a coward?" Annabeth questioned.

"Not at all," he responded with a smile, "I just know whatever your answer; it'll be our greatest challenge tomorrow."

She was nodding, understanding dawning, and then she admitted, "Their technology, it's what crippled us when they first attacked."

"The lasers," he said, aiming a finger and made a 'pew pew' sound before chuckling. "The guns do make fighting with swords and arrows a bit archaic." The Doctor showed her his Sonic, "Anywhere I am, with this, they'll be disabled – I would offer it to you to lead the charge, to remain safe, but I also need it to deactivate the machine."

Patting his arm with her free hand, Annabeth allowed, "At the very least, you would be giving us some advantage; the looks on their faces when they have to scramble for their swords…"

He could see the anger in her features; in the way her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes narrowed slightly. The warmth of her daughter's hug still lingered on her skin and she thought back to that day they'd taken her. He knew that horror well, had to look a woman in the eye after her newborn daughter had been stolen from her very arms and he'd had to be the one to tell her everything would be alright. Of course that time, he'd known it would be.

Now, _here in this place_, he wasn't so sure.

Looking to Annabeth, the Doctor knew the anger she felt over what had happened with Clarice would either be her downfall or her triumph on the field the next day. The need to protect her daughter would outweigh anything else on her mind and he knew how dangerous that solitary vision could be; he struggled with it himself, continuing to remind himself an entire civilization hung in the balance of the battle tomorrow – not just Clara's life.

Bowing his head, the Doctor spoke softly through a clenched jaw, "I've asked as much of Sloren, but might I ask a favor of you as well?"

Shifting to look at him in the moonlight, as they came to a stop far from the crowds, Annabeth replied in a hushed whisper, "What sort of favor, Doctor?"

"Clarice," he began, glancing towards the woman in question as she stood with Sloren before a large fire, their heads touching as they conversed privately between one another, words that dissolved into a slow kiss and then a long embrace. "When the fighting begins, I want her as far from it as possible."

Annabeth laughed, "Doctor, you know how impossible that will be."

He chuckled at the words, knowing full well how _impossible_ Clara and her echoes were. With a small nod, he took a step away from her and insisted, "I don't want her near the castle tomorrow."

The woman now staring at him curiously clasped her hands together and she raised her chin, telling him firmly, "I get the feeling this has nothing to do with the machine and all to do with who she is."

"It's not that she wears her face," the Doctor assured.

"Then what is it?" Annabeth asked forcefully, chin dropping now to glare at him and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably on the spot knowing that telling her too much could do damage. But he also knew she had a right to know, as Clarice's mother.

Nodding, the Doctor allowed, "Clarice is a part of Clara, a bit of her that had been scattered in time and, in a sense, she's already returned to Clara – if she hadn't, Clara wouldn't be here today." Watching Annabeth, he continued, "There are bits of Clara all over the universe, all over time. Women out there all very much real and every bit as strong as her. But the reason they exist, Annabeth; their purpose in the universe," he trailed, brow knotting together painfully before he admitted, "I was supposed to die and instead Clara sacrificed herself to save me and all of her echoes, all of the echoes she put out in the universe, as much as they are born to families and live their lives…" he watched the woman who was staring at him, trying to understand what he knew sounded like nonsense and he sighed, then breathed, "They exist to save me."


	21. Chapter 21

Morning seemed to come all too quickly and the Doctor watched as Sloren spoke to the appointed leaders of each faction. They'd broken them up into skills and then into groups that would hopefully surround and overtake the castle – from inhabitants within and from those who patrolled the lands around. He knew there were hundreds and it broke his hearts to watch them take their orders and depart to begin organizing the men and women who had volunteered. Sloren returned to the Doctor with a frown and he nodded to Hansel and Moff, who were rounding up the children and taking them further into the forest behind the village.

"I've put them in charge of the young ones," he sighed. "Told them protecting the children was the most important duty a knight could be given and they proudly took on the _honor_." He chuckled and then shook his head to explain, "They're to teach them how to fish, make fires and tents, and learn from the elderly and the women who remain behind – win or lose, we'll need anyone we can to tend to the wounded once this is over." Looking out at the two boys, Sloren added, "It's a shame that those so young will have to witness sights they'll hold onto for a lifetime."

The Doctor clapped a hand to his shoulder and he nodded his appreciation for keeping the boys out of the fray before looking to Clarice, who was working with the archers to assemble as many arrows as they could. "Any chance you could argue the same for a princess? Stay behind, tend to the children, mend the wounded…"

He took a long breath and the Doctor knew before he spoke that the answer was not the one he would have wanted and he lowered his eyes to the ground as Sloren explained, "I've talked to her; the Queen has all but ordered her to remain behind, but she feels it's her duty."

Shaking his head, the Doctor replied, "She feels it is her right."

"Revenge?" Sloren asked curiously and it relieved the Doctor to know that this man – this man who knew her so well – was taken by surprise by the very notion of Clarice seeking revenge against Morda.

He eyed the man before looking around, "Is she to enter with the archers?"

Nodding, he told him, "She spent the better part of the night training."

"Is she…" he made shooting gestures before wincing and finishing, "Any good?"

Sloren gave a curt nod and told him, "She's got some experience – we've had lessons in the castle." He offered a sheepish smile as he admitted, "Morda wasn't aware, but the men found it amusing. Little girl wearing a helmet and prancing around poking… it was only a matter of time before we allowed her some fun with the weaponry." He raised his head and assured, "She's a stronger archer than many here, and she's to ride with Mallory; Annabeth insisted if Clarice was too stubborn to stay behind, she would ride with someone capable."

Frowning despite the man's words, knowing Clarice would be in danger despite repeated warnings, the Doctor glanced around and asked quietly, "Has anyone gotten a good night's worth of sleep in this camp?"

Sloren understood and he gripped the handle of his sword tightly as the Doctor left his side to approach the woman pushing an arrow into a leather quiver at her side, glancing up with a knowing look to tell him, "I'm going." Then she pointed, "I know you've told Sloren – you've told my mother – to stop me from going, but I'm going."

"You're going," the Doctor repeated.

Clarice was half upright when he spoke and as she straightened, she eyed him curiously, "You're a trickster with words; I won't fall for it."

"What have I said?" He raised his hands at either side of him slightly, a smirk on his face.

"You wish to convince me to stay behind with the children." Clarice nudged a bow with her foot and she told him adamantly, "If there's to be a war; I should be fighting for my people."

"Protecting your people," the Doctor told her.

"Protecting my people is fighting for them – what future do the children have if Morda starts her machine?" She narrowed her eyes at him and he knew instantly Sloren had told her about the _fuel source_. "There'll be no world left for them."

Sighing, the Doctor approached her and spoke quietly, "Tell me that you're not going to try to enter the castle, Clarice. And don't lie to me – I'll likely be cross with you if you lie to me and I find you looking to take on Morda yourself."

With a laugh, Clarice reached forward to land her palms to his shoulders and she lowered her head slightly, giving him a grin before assuring, "Doctor, I have no intentions of stepping foot in that castle until it is free of Morda."

Taking her hands in his and bringing them down between them, the Doctor frowned down at them, massaging at them gently as he lifted his eyes to hers, "You're important, Clarice – to the people of this kingdom, to Annabeth, to Sloren. You bring them hope and you give them love and you do it wholeheartedly without ever asking anything in return and they'll need you when this is over. A kingdom shouldn't be built upon the death of its children and you've had to live that death already for almost twenty four years now. You deserve to be free of the role of martyr. To live…"

"Doctor, why me?" Clarice interrupted. "You've asked others to stop me and now you plead yourself – is it Clara? I saw the way you were with her; the way you looked…"

"It's not Clara," he chuckled. "Do I want to see harm come to this face? No, but it's more than just the face you wear…"

"Then what is it?" She watched him, then looked down at his hands, surrounding hers completely. "You've made no efforts to stop Annabeth, nor the archers, so I understand it's not that I'm a woman; and if it's not Clara's face, then what is it? What are you so afraid of? It can't be a lack of hope, for the villagers have more hope than you could ever know – they simply needed a guide, a guide they find more readily in my mother than in me," she trailed and then nodded, "It has to be something, something else you're not telling me – something you're not willing to tell."

He chuckled, breathing lightly, "Ah, well, _you've caught me_." He raised his eyebrows as he continued, "You are important_ to me_. A reminder, a constant reminder of a sacrifice made that, while appreciated, isn't something I want to witness ever again." The Doctor sighed with a smile and he uttered, "Clarice, please. Don't try to be a hero."

"The other echoes died, didn't they," she stated quietly, nodding when he did. "I won't go past the front gates," she assured before slipping away from him to grab the full quiver she'd been filling to affix it to a horse before being pulled aside by Annabeth. The Doctor slowly made his way to his own horse, reaching up to pet the animal who neighed at him as he sighed.

"Of course I know she's lying," he said quietly.

* * *

Morda moved into the room and looked over the machine, an metal oval that stood as tall as she did, coiled over in glass tubing and odd wires that ran towards a mess of computers in a constant exchange of information with ones in her ship. A wooden table lay just before it and she knew once it was activated, the table would swing upright into it, locking into place so they could select the coordinates before beaming themselves aboard the ship that sat cloaked in the sky over the castle.

She smiled deviously before flicking a switch that lit up a panel at her side and sent a hum through the wires and lit up the glass a brilliant blue. The screen rattled off numbers and she watched them flutter up in rows of green lettering, telling her coordinates in the stars across the universe and she laughed as she understood that instead of a particular location, settled in random spots depending on the day, she had her choice of destination. And one, she already saw, was on a planet just a few days travel from her own.

"Your majesty," Gonther called quietly from the door.

"Is she ready?"

He shook his head, "We must run a trial first, you know that is what the other girl was for…"

"We'll run the machine, Gonther – I don't have time for trials."

The short man nodded slowly and approached the machine, nervously rubbing at his nose before beginning to read off the same coordinates she'd been looking at when he entered. He frowned and received a small jolt to the back of his neck before he felt his body turn against its will towards the woman standing behind him, sour look on her face as she waited for his eyes to meet hers.

"That won't be necessary," Gonther argued, knowing she was already searching his mind.

But she smiled, "Oh, won't it?" Leaning forward and raising a hand to lift him off the ground, she supplied, "Don't tell me, you think I don't know you conspired with my son against me." With a groan, she added, "What is it about this girl that makes you all so weak."

"She's innocent," he chanced to say, feeling a squeezing at his neck and a light pressure behind his eyes as she pried into his thoughts. He could sense her digging into conversations he'd had with Sloren over the years. Questions of whether the girl was truly necessary; questions of whether they should leave the planet at all. Questions of progeny between species and questions of altering Sloren's physiology to age alongside Clarice. Questions that disgusted Morda, but brought a small smile his lips because the thought of Clarice – the child who asked him why the sky was blue and how the clouds made rain and snuck him drawings he kept hidden away in a desk – free from all of this and happier because of something his science accomplished made him believe maybe he could be a better man.

One who didn't put innocent children to their death under the order of a tyrant.

Turning, she laughed, "You protect the innocent now?" Pointing, she reminded, "Remember when you burned a building to the ground, filled with _innocent_ children, at my command with _your_ inventions, Gonther?"

Frowning, he scowled, "Yes, Morda, I do."

She moved to stand before him again and he hissed in pain as she dove into his thoughts, pushing aside the blocks he continually tried to throw in her way and when she dropped him back to the ground, he stood, eyes blankly on the wall in front of him. "You will do as I say."

"I will do as you say," he repeated.

"And the girl is to go into the machine immediately."

Gonther nodded, turning towards the door, stating, "The girl is to go into the machine immediately."


	22. Chapter 22

Sitting atop a horse with his Sonic held tightly in his hand, the Doctor watched the sun rising just behind the castle in front of them and he frowned at the mass inside of the cage that hung out front. Clara hadn't moved since they'd arrived and it unnerved him because he knew just how cold the night could be and, he noticed, the crown had been removed. They told him she'd been taken into the castle and had returned later looking like the ghost of herself, a thought he tried to push into the back of his mind as he looked to Sloren with a nod.

"Are you sure you won't wear armor," the other man offered, looking over the purple tweed snug against his thin frame and the bow tie that sat comfortably at the Doctor's neck.

He smiled at him, painfully turning his eyes away from Clara to the man beside him now and he told him quietly, "Armor never quite suited me."

Lifting an eyebrow, Sloren teased, "You might feel differently when an arrow pierces your chest."

Frowning, the Doctor asked, "Would the armor the men wear really protect them from an arrow?"

Sloren stared and then he replied quietly, "By God's grace, it will."

The Doctor let a sad laugh slip past his lips before he looked back to the castle and gave the horse a small kick to advance towards the gates. He looked to the guards who both raised their weapons at him, a light buzz accompanying the blue light that streaked through the guns, and he smiled, nodding simply and glancing back at the trees on either side of the road, knowing they were swimming with an army of peasants all waiting for the right moment.

"We seek the Queen's audience," the Doctor told them quietly.

He had to give her a chance to end this peacefully.

They eyed one another and turned when the front gate to the castle opened and Morda stepped out with a smile plastered across her pale face, eyes rising to look up at the cage where Clara was still in a heap. "The Doctor," she called, "No doubt wants to convince me that what's in the best interests of my people is for me to submit to his wishes – to give up the throne I conquered; to return his companion back to him; to pass the kingdom back into the hands of a child while I rot in a prison."

Shrugging, the Doctor allowed, "I accept the terms of your surrender."

Morda hissed, "You think you're so clever."

"Actually," the Doctor interrupted, "I quite do."

With a small smile, Morda raised a finger and the cage just inside of the outer gates shook violently, waking the sleeping woman inside as the Doctor tightened his grip on the reigns of the horse. He watched Clara grab hold of the bars and pull herself to sit up and when she looked out at him, he felt his chest going hollow at the emptiness in the eyes that peered out at him through raggedly cut hair. And then he felt the rage building at the notion that Morda had hurt her.

He felt the reigns of his horse pulled slightly and suddenly Sloren was at his side as Morda laughed. The other man uttering quietly, "Control yourself, Doctor."

"Oh," Morda called, gesturing at Clara, "Oh, is your pet looking a bit worse for the wear, Doctor?"

Turning away, the Doctor locked eyes with Sloren and he felt an odd sensation in the back of his mind, something he would normally shake away from angrily, but he allowed the man superficial access to his thoughts. Sloren wasn't as capable as his mother, but he was able to trickle into the Doctor's mind with his permission and float over his thoughts. He could easily see the fear he had for Clara's safety, something that came with a cornucopia of mixed emotions about the woman Sloren understood easily. He pushed them aside with a gentle prod – just enough to soothe the seething anger clouding the Doctor's judgment – and when Sloren finally nodded, he did so with a long breath.

Looking back to Morda, the Doctor ordered calmly with a gesture up to the cage, "Release her and no harm has to come to anyone on this day, Morda. You know I'm a Time Lord – know what I'm _capable_ of – and I can find another way to get you back home."

The woman merely laughed and when she turned, the Doctor saw the two guards raise their pistols, but he was quicker, giving a buzz of his Sonic that echoed in the quiet morning air. The guns burst apart as they fired and they were left shouting Dinorem obscenities as the front gates closed and the courtyard filled with soldiers who raised their pistols now, taking aim at the two of them.

Before a single shot could be fired, the Doctor disarmed the closest of them with a prolonged and angry blast from his Sonic, which served as a distraction for the rest as Sloren gave a shout. Through the trees the Doctor could hear the whip of arrows leaving their bows and he frowned, looking overhead at the streaks making their way through the skies.

He closed his eyes as they landed because he knew the call put Clara directly in the line of fire and when he opened them, he looked up at the cage to find her curled against the opposite side of the cage, arms wrapped protectively around the legs that sat tucked against her chest. Two arrows had embedded themselves in the wooden pole holding the cage up and in the cage itself, just inches from her right foot and she stared at it in shock before turning her eyes to him.

Eyes that didn't even recognize him.

"Now," Sloren called, shaking him out of the dread he was feeling and he turned to watch the other man repeat the word several times as Sloren slung the face of his helmet down and charged at the two gate guards, slaying them quickly. He then turned the horse so the Doctor could use it as cover to slide off his own to rush towards the rope holding the cage up.

The Doctor lifted his Sonic to blast the guns the men held and he listened to the grunts of surprise as well as screams of pain and he silently apologized because he knew he'd left them unarmed momentarily – just long enough for the first wave of men from the villages to enter through the front gates to begin battle. He didn't like a fight, but if there had to be one it should at the very least be fair.

Rushing forward, he stopped short when the blade of a sword swung down heavily at him and he glanced up in shock at the amused look in a larger man's eyes. Reaching for his waist, he realized Sloren had been right when he found he no longer had the sword at his side to defend himself and when he glanced back up, the other man laughed quietly.

"Use your words now, Strategist," the man muttered through armor.

With an uneasy smile, the Doctor cried up at Sloren, "Divert, _divert_!"

"Round the castle," Sloren ordered.

He could hear the rumbling of horses through the trees and he knew without looking that the groups in the forest were emerging, taking their horses around the perimeter of the castle with archers on their back, and he listened to the quick zips beginning on either side of him. In front of him, the guard lifted his sword again and the Doctor fell sideways, then jumped out from another swing, and then he tripped, falling onto his backside with a shout of pain and just as the man brought his sword up, an arrow landed in his chest with a dull thud just before he fell away, sword falling limply from his hand.

For a moment he remained still in shock, hearts pounding ferociously in his chest. Then he turned to see Clarice standing in the road, fierce look on her face as she glanced at him once, offering him a small grin of satisfaction before being pulled back onto Mallory's horse to ride around the castle. The Doctor lifted himself off the ground and looked to Sloren, seeing the look of terror on his face as Clarice continued shooting from behind Mallory and he began to move towards her, but the Doctor shouted his name.

"She's _Clara_; there's no use trying to convince her to stay away," the Doctor argued.

"She assured me she would not be on the front lines," Sloren replied, dropping off his horse and rushing towards the cage and they took hold of the pulley system keeping Clara's cage up and slowly brought it down, the Doctor Sonicing the metal lock that held the cage door closed. He yanked it off, tossing it to the ground, but when he smiled inside, he found terrified eyes still staring back.

"Clara, come on; we have to get to the machine," he told her softly, watching her as her eyes watered over and she pressed herself more firmly into the bars behind her.

Oswin shook her head and the Doctor looked quickly to Sloren, who responded gruffly, "Morda could have wiped her memory clean of you, of everything if she didn't fight back, and left her… _like this_."

The Doctor climbed into the cage and she flinched when he knelt and touched her knee. For a moment he simply stared, waiting for some hint of recognition in her eyes towards him and for that moment he felt his hearts hold their beats. A Clara who didn't know him; a Clara who didn't know who she was… and then he exhaled and he nodded shortly to her, asking quietly, "What is your name?"

"Doctor, _this is Clara_," Sloren shouted, "We really must advance; the archers only have so many arrows before they have to retreat."

Turning to him, the Doctor explained quietly, "This is _not_ my Clara."

"If she's not your Clara, then who is she?" Sloren demanded now, looking into the cage at the woman peeking out from behind the fur of the coat wrapped around her. "_Doctor_?"

"What is your name?" The Doctor repeated, seeing her lift her head slightly, small nose exposing itself and then a pale set of lips that thought to speak, but hesitated. With a small nod of reassurance, the Doctor took a step back and he glanced up when a villager clashed against a soldier nearby with a grunt and a shout that shook this woman where she sat. "You're not safe here," he urged.

"I'm not safe outside of this cage," she managed, so quietly the Doctor almost didn't hear her.

And he knew then, without any doubt, that this definitely not his Clara without her memories due to something Morda had done. This was another echo; one he should have realized in the camp days before was possible. The way Annabeth had continued to look upon Clara, even after she saw Clarice; the way she assumed Clara had been in the castle with her; the way she remained protective of her – as if she had been expecting there to be two girls… _two_ daughters.

"_It's not often we see twins in this realm. They're generally thought to be a bad omen_."

They weren't a bad omen though, they were simply_ twin_ echoes. Not something he would have expected to happen either, except here they were in this twisted fairy tale, and just like a twisted fairy tale, one had been hidden away – the Doctor knew – a backup plan in case Clarice wasn't around for one reason or another. A twin that had been locked in a dungeon for almost twenty four years; a twin who pained him to watch for instead of a boisterous personality, or a flirtatious one, or a strong will, or a witty retort at the world around her, this echo harbored Clara's fears.

"Who are you?" The Doctor questioned again, head tilting as he watched the sadness in her eyes, a sadness he'd never seen in Clara's eyes – she would never let him.

Pulling herself to her feet, the woman with Clara's face, gaunt from malnourishment and pale from a lack of sun reached out for the hand he offered and when he helped her free from the cage, hugging her to his body tightly keep her weakened limbs upright, she uttered, "My name is Oswin; I'm Clarice's sister."


	23. Chapter 23

Clara hadn't slept, thinking about the Doctor out in the forest trying to build some army with Clarice and Sloren. And she thought about Oswin up in that cage. Even in the dungeon with the small window, she could feel the frigid air outside after the sun set. She curled up in a corner and stacked as much of the hay as she could around her and she stared at it while she considered what she should be doing instead.

They'd been on their way to Italy when the Tardis began to shift out of control in the vortex. It seemed like Italy was becoming the destination they would never get to. Sort of like Space Vegas. She imagined she should make a list at some point – _all the places the Doctor says he'll take me, but we end up sidetracked and almost dead_. With a small smile, she imagined that if they ever did get to Italy, it just wouldn't be what they imagined it would be. He'd find some time with no plumbing, or with a plague, or vampires.

He'd told her about vampires in Venice once and it didn't sound like much of a good time. Of course, running in the streets of Venice from a villain was better than starving in a dungeon cell knowing in a few hours you could be dead, Clara thought to herself. She hugged her legs to her chest and continued to list off things she'd rather be doing.

Grading papers was always more pleasurable than dying.

_She'd certainly have made herself a sandwich_.

When the guards came for her, she stood and looked to the dim light coming through the window. She knew the sun had barely begun to rise in the sky and she readied herself to fight. If they were going to put her in a machine that would kill her she would rather it would be unconscious from a sucker punch to the face, but after a few swings and an attempt to run for the door, she found herself with her arm bent painfully behind her, being shoved to the ground, a needle poking her in the side of the neck as she shouted.

"This should take the fight out of her for a bit," one chuckled.

With a thud of a thick hand against leather, the other looked her over curiously and asked, "How many of these girls do you think this planet has?"

The grumbled response seemed one of confusion before Clara was pulled to her feet, now hanging heavily underneath her body, barely capable of taking on her weight, much less taking steps. The guard holding her hoisted her up into his arms with a grunt of frustration and told the other calmly, "Come on, Gonther needs her."

"No," Clara managed, "No, I'll die."

She managed to meet the man's eye, saw the small hint of remorse in them before he told her quietly, "Sorry, love, small price to pay for us to go home."

"Oi," the other argued, "Don't talk to her."

"What's the harm now?"

After a moment of silence, he uttered, "You've seen what Morda can do." Then he gestured at Clara and hissed, "Somehow _she_ can aim a machine at a star in the sky and jettison us there – we don't know what else she's capable of."

"I can fail you in English Lit," Clara laughed, head falling onto the man's shoulder. "I can burn your soufflé," she added with a gentle poke of her finger into his chest. "What did you give me?"

"Gonther says it'll help you relax."

She nodded, then explained, "I don't feel well," because her heart had started to hammer in her chest and it suddenly dawned on her that they had gone down several sets of stairs and were probably approaching the dungeon. "No," she squeaked. "_Doctor_."

They continued forward through a dark passageway she almost remembered and she felt her limbs growing heavier by the moment, exacerbated by the fact she was now feeling faint from the rapid beating of her heart. A door opened with a creak and she was placed down on a hard wooden table and they shifted her arms and legs, tying them down as she blinked against the dizziness keeping her from fighting back.

A cool hand settled at her forehead, swiping at her long bangs and then nodes were stuck to her chest in several spots, each giving her a quick jolt of lightning that made her shout weakly. The man hovering over her asked her lightly, "What is your name?"

"Clara," she whispered. "You have to stop."

She watched him shake his head as he shifted away, checking on instruments and screens beside her and Clara swallowed roughly, knowing if she had anything in her stomach, it would have come out. Something began beeping softly, but rapidly, and after a moment she realized it was her heartbeat and she grimaced because she didn't know much about medical procedures, but she knew there was definitely something wrong with the quick and erratic sounds she was listening to.

"You won't just kill me," she urged.

He turned.

"The reason this works," Clara explained, "I was scattered in the time winds."

"Then you should not be alive," Gonther told her firmly.

"But I lived," she dropped her head to the side to tell him. "I lived and all of my echoes live and if you kill me to do this, you'll also kill one of them." Clara took a long breath, "One of them before they can save him. You do this and the Doctor dies."

Gonther paused, hand over a knob and he watched the look of severity she was giving him, despite the drugs in her system and the obvious exhaustion the machine was causing. "So the Doctor dies," Gonther prompted, "Why should that stop me?"

Clara blinked and felt the warm tears rolling over her temples as she looked to the ceiling, seeing the blurred texture of rocks above her as she whispered, "If the Doctor dies; the universe dies."

He gave a shake of his head, still feeling the cool grip Morda had on his thoughts as he watched Clara cry quietly and then he turned to his screen, to the locations that continually fluttered up the screen. The count, on that day, was several hundred and he looked to her to repeat, "Scattered to the time winds."

"You kill me _like this_, you'll pull on their hearts."

"I would only kill one," he argued. "Two deaths to pull a planet out of a pocket universe it shouldn't be in to begin with," Gonther argued, pushing Morda's control slowly, knowing she must be distracted by something else, "You and one other girl who's simply an extension of you – not a real person."

"They're real," Clara growled. "They _are__real_."

Gonther reached for the syringe at his side and he lifted it as he shifted to stand over her, looking down into the dark eyes that stared up at him as her chest heaved with the gasping breaths she was taking to accommodate the extra blood flow to keep from passing out. He raised the needle and she closed her eyes, pressing more tears onto her skin as he brought he needle down against his thigh with a grunt and then a sigh of relief.

Reaching up, he undid the restraints at her wrists just before he collapsed.

* * *

Holding Oswin to keep her upright, the Doctor ducked away from attacks as Sloren defended them the best he could while throwing confused glances at the woman wincing against the sounds around them and the Doctor understood – she was a secret kept from even him. They moved towards the castle and the Doctor turned in time to hear a massive explosion rock the castle.

Sloren offered him a frown and explained, "They're using Dironem technology – we have to get to the back of the castle so you can deactivate the bombs."

"We have to find the machine," the Doctor told him, passing a glance at Oswin with one hand pressed against the ear that wasn't firmly affixed to the Doctor's chest.

He began to move, but Sloren grabbed him by his coat and shouted, "Clarice is in the back of the castle!"

Nodding slowly, he tightened his grip on the woman he held and they began making their way through the castle, villagers and soldiers alike rushing alongside them in fights that had Oswin shivering in terror. They pushed past several large men, Sloren tossing his helmet aside to get a better look through the smoke obscuring their view of the back courtyard and he rushed forward when he saw Mallory sweeping through the grass on his horse swinging an axe heavily into the chests of any oncoming Dironem soldier.

"Where's Clarice?" He shouted.

Mallory pulled on the horse's reigns and he dropped off the horse, gesturing back, "We were able to get our hands on some of the explosives they were going to use on us – took out the back wall, but after we entered she disappeared… she's so small and…" he raised his head to shake it, telling the man honestly, "I'm sorry Sloren, I don't know where she went."

The Doctor glanced around the castle and he growled with frustration because he knew she would do it, but somehow he imagined he'd be able to put an end to it all before it came to this. He looked down at Oswin and he asked quietly, "Can you walk?" She was nodding before he finished, but she hadn't relinquished her hold on him and when he told her, "Stay with Mallory," she replied with a frightened shout.

Mallory looked to her and then to Sloren and he asked quickly, "Who is this?"

The Doctor smiled in appreciation knowing the man understood this was a different woman entirely, before he turned, arm tucked around Oswin, and rushed back into the castle to find Annabeth entering on her horse, sword held tightly in her hand as she looked about wildly and when her eyes fell on the Doctor, she inhaled sharply seeing the woman clutched against his side. She swung the sword roughly, slashing just under the chest plate of one soldier and she slammed the back of her sword into the head of another before yanking on the reigns to send her horse's front legs into the air to kick at oncoming soldiers.

The Doctor shifted aside as she slipped off the horse and asked quickly, "Is she alright?" She reached for Oswin, who shrank away from her before Annabeth called, "Clara, it's alright, it's just me."

Looking from Oswin to Annabeth, the Doctor told her lightly, "Annabeth, this isn't Clara."

"If this isn't Clara, then wh…" she straightened and the Doctor's eyes went wide as a soldier ran towards them with a spear, but he was hit in the throat with an arrow and when he turned, he found Clarice standing just at the edge of the steps he knew lead to her room. She rushed towards them quickly, relief washing over her face as she looked to the woman the Doctor held, but she slowed as she reached them.

The Doctor turned to Clarice and asked quickly, "Where's Clara?"

Eyes still on the woman he held, she replied quietly, watching Oswin, "She's not…" Her eyes met the Doctor's with understanding before she gasped, "They've taken her to the machine."

Annabeth nodded slowly, looking between the two girls in much the same way she'd looked between Clara and Clarice when they'd arrived and the Doctor knew this was the moment she thought had been stolen from her then. Both of her daughters safe – _relatively_ – and within her grasp and she reached out slowly to take Clarice by the wrist with one hand before tentatively reaching out for Oswin. Her fingers hovered just over her shoulder and the Doctor bent to whisper, "Oswin, go with your mother."

He watched her head come up slowly, dark eyes large and searching as she took in Annabeth for the first time in her adult life before turning her attention to Clarice, who nodded slowly, inching towards the woman. Annabeth's fingers landed softly against her and she shifted in one swift motion from the Doctor's side to her mothers with a small noise of relief just before Sloren swung his sword to slice the arm of a man intent on stabbing Clarice and then he turned to shout, "Doctor, _Clara_."


	24. Chapter 24

Clara was lying on the table out of breath, barely able to turn her head to see Gonther on the ground beside her and she shifted her wrist slowly, feeling the leather that had bound her loose enough for her to slip out of and she swung her arm over her chest, letting it land painfully with a grimace. The effects of the drugs were wearing off, but the effects of the machine were making it difficult to focus as she reached out for the strap over her right wrist and began to tug.

Pushing herself up to sit, she worked her ankles out of their restraints and then she fell over onto the man with a groan, reaching up to test for his pulse and jerking away when she found none. "_Oh_," was all she managed to utter before she dragged herself away from his body and crawled towards the door, moaning against the pain of the hard rock pressing into her knees as she went.

"Doctor," she managed to croak, hearing the pounding of her own heart and feeling the warm rush of her rising blood pressure as she made her way through the door and into the damper hallway. "_Please_," she squeaked, more to her own limbs and to the muscle in her chest she knew was working harder than it should.

"_It's just odd – at this rate, she'll go into cardiac arrest within the half hour_."

"_Well then, better get this little princess back up to her tower; wouldn't want her to die_ prematurely."

She grimaced against the memory, suddenly clear in her mind, as she began to make her way up the steps and when she felt a pair of hands grip onto each of her arms, she struggled lightly, shouting against them because she imagined Morda had made it down into the dungeon with her men. They would put her back into the machine and they would turn it on full power and in a blast the planet would be gone; she'd be dead; and they would have won. Instead she felt cool fingers touching her forehead and there was a small inhale.

"Oh, dear, get her to the kitchen," came a voice she recognized and she allowed herself a sigh of relief knowing it was the maid who had cared for Clarice; the one who'd known _she_ wasn't _her_.

Closing her eyes, comfortable in the knowledge she was safe, Clara felt herself being picked up by a thin set of arms with a grunt and she sighed, "_Doctor_?"

"No, your hi…" the words trailed, unsure, before finishing, "We'll get you to safety, milady."

She nodded slowly, trusting that this was simply another of the castle servants and she relaxed into him as they began to move, the maid offering, "Quickly, take the back passage," as they slipped through a hidden door in the wall.

* * *

The Doctor ran with Sloren down through the castle and he found his heart racing as the sounds of fighting became more and more muted as they put more walls between themselves and the battle raging above. There was another explosion and he closed his eyes against it, whipping his Sonic out to scan the air and he huffed a breath when he detected an odd signal.

"There were two of them," Sloren muttered. "All of this time, _two of them_."

Watching him shake his head, the Doctor allowed, "You really hadn't known?"

"We were told…" he trailed, turning quickly with a frown, "I suppose we were lied to."

He could see something was troubling him and he waited, stepping carefully over the rugged stone steps beneath his feet. Scanning the air again, the Doctor sensed the readings growing stronger and he stopped when the ground shook with a gentle rumble that had them both reaching for the walls to maintain balance until it evened out. This commotion, the Doctor knew, came from something larger than just an explosive.

With a sigh up at Sloren, he stated, "Your ship."

"It's been hovering over the castle for years – safest place, Morda claimed," Sloren explained before telling him gruffly, "I imagine she's de-cloaked her, could have teleported some soldiers up to use the guns," he stopped to turn with a expression of pure horror, "The villagers won't stand a chance if they use the guns."

With a frown, the Doctor nodded, then supplied, "But she won't use them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sloren demanded.

"She would have used them already," he reasoned. The Doctor knew it was the same reason the guns were never used – they had to have exhausted an enormous power supply just landing and taking over the castle. Switching to swords and fisticuffs was their way of conserving. They needed that energy, he assumed, to get off planet and battle back against Morda's husband and the kingdoms of the North that had banished her. With a small smile of assurance, he told Sloren, "I suppose she's simply trying to scare them off – the younger ones won't know what the thing in the sky is; the older will remember…"

"It might work," Sloren interrupted sadly.

He nodded, knowing that if it worked and the people abandoned the castle, it would mean a definite death for Annabeth, Clarice, Oswin, and Clara. Gesturing at his Sonic, lit brightly in the darkness, the Doctor commanded, "We have to find that machine."

"Gonther," Sloren stated plainly, brow knotting before turning up at him, "I trusted him with my secrets and he had to have known about the second sister – he would have…" he clenched his jaw, "He would have used her to test the machine."

With a sigh, the Doctor urged him forward, "Scientist, I take it?" He waited for Sloren's nod and he smiled, "Quite often the morally unsound middle men of monsters. Capable of keeping the lion's share of secrets while following a variety of orders." Staring blankly ahead, he knew the dangers of scientists, but he shook the thought free, sensing Sloren's frustration, as if he felt betrayed by the man in question and when he looked to him, he could see the sadness on his face.

"I thought him an ally," the other man divulged.

Nodding as they stepped through a door to find Morda standing above an older man's body, grimace angrily marring her face as she turned swiftly to glare up at them, the Doctor allowed, "It's possible he still was."

"Where have you taken her?" Morda growled and the instant the words were out of her mouth, the Doctor felt both a relief wash over his hearts at the notion that Clara had gotten away and a sharp sting just behind his eyes that sent him recoiling back into the hall as Sloren swung his sword out in her direction as a warning.

"What's happened to Gonther?" He commanded.

Morda smiled, "Your imposter managed to kill him."

Struggling against her psychic hold on his mind, far stronger than Sloren's had been, the Doctor inched back into the room to shake his head and argue, "Clara would never…" before he found himself slouching forward with a shout.

"Mother," Sloren barked, "Stop this madness!"

She stared at him a moment and the Doctor turned to look up at him, seeing the way he trembled as sweat began to dot his forehead. Fighting his mother's power as he held tightly to his sword. And then it began to turn slowly towards the Doctor as Sloren's brow came together painfully. The woman standing next to the machine laughed, lowly, and she nodded to the Doctor.

"I believe you've spent enough time corrupted by the wiles of this human child, Sloren," she uttered. "Kill the Time Lord and bring me the girl – _the girl of your choosing_." She smiled, "You've _three_ to choose from, son," then she laughed, "I'll let you keep the others to do with as you please."

The Doctor raised a hand as he dropped to his knees, "Sloren, no."

Head tilting slightly, Sloren grimaced, feeling the prickly spikes of her mother's abilities crawling through his mind, willing his arm to rise.

"Sloren, you're as strong as her," the Doctor urged, "You're stronger," he shouted, hissing in pain.

"As strong as me, Doctor? _Stronger_?" Morda called with a chuckle as she looked over the machinery at her side and typed, lifting a small device out of a slot and twisting an antennae up before shifting it to look down at him. "I've had my abilities mastered since childhood and Sloren," she looked at him with a lip curled up in disgust, "The only thing he's managed to develop is a weakness in his loins."

"Weakness," the Doctor repeated curiously, "You think his affection for the girl – for the people of this planet is weakness?"

"She's a wretched creature," Morda spat. "Saccharine smile and childish ways – more adept at picking flowers than fights; she'd have been murdered at the hands of her own parents were she born on Dironem… with _disgrace_. No more fit to rule a country than the swine in the pens."

The Doctor watched Sloren's eyes, the way they shifted slightly and he could see his arm's trembling come to a halt as he listened to his mother. "He'd planned to marry her, _to find his freedom in hers_. There is no weakness in your son, only the strength of his heart – one you've been too distracted by Clarice's to see."

"Marry her!" Morda shouted and the Doctor's eyes pinned shut against the throbbing in his mind. "You wish to _marry_ the girl?" She moved closer to her son, the device in her hand dropping slightly as she growled with a laugh, "The Doctor's companion will go in the machine and when we land back on Dironem, after I strip your father's still beating heart from his chest, I'll see to it you and Clarice are wed. And then you can be executed together as husband and wife," she threw her head back with a sick laugh that made the Doctor's stomach turn as he watched Sloren's jaw tighten with anger, "Or perhaps we can see what happens when you mate with the girl. A child I can train up proper while you remain locked away – you might yet redeem yourself in your bastard child, Sloren."

The sword shifted again, this time towards Morda and she took a step back, eyes going wide and the Doctor could feel her hold on his mind loosening, fingers able to manipulate the Sonic he held. "Or we'll keep you as our prisoner here, mother," the man offered darkly. "Here to see those grandchildren of yours live out a life of peace, and plentitude, within your grasp, but so far from it."

Sonic lifting slowly, the Doctor let out a small burst at the device Morda held her in hand – no doubt a tracking device to find the girls necessary to point the machine in the right direction. It popped and she turned towards him, sending him to the ground with a strong blast of energy of her own, crawling over his spine and sparking his hearts. Sloren remained trained on her though, bringing his sword up quickly as he rushed towards her, ready to run her through. Morda was quicker, pushing at something on her waist she flashed out of the room, leaving him staring at the empty space with a terror in his chest as he realized if she was going to lose the battle, she was going to make sure Sloren lost as well.

The man moved towards the machine and in one swift swing, he sliced through the mechanics of it, earning himself a burst of a shock he absorbed with a grunt before he fell back against the table. The Doctor raised his Sonic, scanning the technology in front of him and nodding to Sloren, "I would have gone with something more subtle, but I suppose destruction by sword works."

"It works on more than just machines," Sloren growled. Frowning down at Gonther and then shifting quickly towards the Doctor, Sloren helped the man up and they hurried back through the doorway to make their way back to the battle above.


	25. Chapter 25

Mallory leapt onto his horse and galloped across the lawn, sword gripped tightly in one hand as he guided the animal between villagers and guards, swinging where he could and absorbing the collisions as he went. He could feel the tremors shaking the ground and when the sunlight faltered, he glanced up to see the ship slowly materializing, as if the sky had been draped over it and were now draining away.

He'd heard stories of ships in the sky; he'd heard stories of other planets and other people's and he knew just how the Dironem came to be amongst them – how they took over. Swinging his sword roughly, he caught a soldier through the chest and launched himself off the horse to the ground to strip the man of his weapon, bringing it up to examine before taking aim at the ship in the sky and firing off a round, watching it strike with little effect.

Horace strode up beside him on another horse and called, "You think that pesky little thing was gonna shoot it down?" The other man turned the horse to behead a man before turning back to Mallory, "I've got an idea, but you're not gonna like it."

"When have I ever liked any of your ideas," Mallory laughed.

With a shrug, Horace offered, "Never, but that don't mean they don't work."

"Is it wrong that I wish Hansel was here?"

Frowning, the other man replied, "Boy would have come in handy, but the Doctor…"

He nodded, knowingly, watching him drop off his horse to ask, "What's your idea?"

"The explosives they use," Horace offered, glancing up and gesturing at the set of blue churning orbs on either side of the ship, "Suppose if we can launch enough of them into the glowing light – seems to be what powers their weapons."

"Like tossing the right drink into a fire."

Horace nodded, grin ready on his dirt streaked face. "But that's why we need Hansel?"

Nodding, Mallory admitted, "He'd find something to get it up there. Slingshot or…"

Glancing around, Mallory shrugged, imagining that the clever boy would be able to put something together, some sort of system of… he looked across the yard to a large wooden device he was unfamiliar with and he slapped Horace's chest with the back of his hand, "That looks like it'll do damage."

* * *

Clara heard them clear off a table, plates and food clashing and splattering to the ground as she was laid out atop it, a cool rag swiftly dropping onto her forehead as she continued to calm her breathing. It was becoming easier, the further she got from the machine, but she knew she needed to recover further before she could simply rush out to find the Doctor. Except, she could hear them talking and what they were saying was sending a surge of adrenaline through her veins.

"There's a ship in the sky," came a quiet voice and in a mess of whispers she understood the ship had appeared before and it had cut over the land with a beam they were terrified would be used again.

"What's going on?" Clara asked weakly.

"Miss, the villagers have launched a full on assault on the castle."

She smiled and felt a hand petting her in a soothing manor before she nodded and uttered, "Good."

"Not _actually_ good," a male voice laughed, "We could _die_."

"We all have to die some time," she argued, pushing to sit up and automatically feeling the multiple sets of hands holding her down. "I have to go," Clara told them, blinking up at them and struggling to keep their faces in focus. "I need a drink," she sighed.

They all stared at her and she frowned; they knew she would try to get up the moment they went to fetch a cup of water and she imagined maybe Clarice was more like her than she thought. The maid touched her cheek with the back of her fingers and whispered, "Rest a moment, dear, we've been safe here."

"Clarice could be out there," she told them. They merely stared. "You know she's here."

Smiling, the maid offered, "Of course we know she's here; so's her mum." Then she pumped a fist like a punch as she growled, "And they're putting a hurting on these aliens."

There was a round of smiles that Clara closed her eyes to allow herself to relax and join in on, except she didn't know where the Doctor was – and she was terrified of what he'd get himself into, knowing she was in danger – and she didn't know if the machine had been de-activated. Clara didn't know if Oswin was safe and the guilt of that turned her stomach. Morda could still take any of the three of them to try to use the machine to get her army back home.

Of course, she knew, without Gonther, it might be difficult to navigate the settings, but she imagined the woman would find a way. Or kill them all trying. "I have to go," she grunted, pushing up past the hands now and bringing her cold fingers up to the sharp stab her chest gave as she stumbled off the table and landed on her knees with a shout.

"Please, just let us keep you safe," someone yelled at her and she understood: she had their face, if they couldn't protect Clarice and they thought they'd failed to save Oswin, the staff felt it their duty to protect Clara, and she nodded slowly, letting them lift her to sit in a chair.

But she looked to the woman now knelt in front of her and she told her sadly, "Just a few moments; I have to go out there and find the Doctor."

"No man is worth risking your life."

Clara smiled lightly and she shook her head, "This one is."

* * *

Annabeth hadn't had much experience in battle over the years – her and her husband had kept a peaceful society – but she'd had enough training at their forest camp to know how to defend herself and, with one daughter wielding a stolen pistol and the other cowering between them, she had enough motivation. She'd tried to get the girls out, but both entrances were swarming with guards; guards who had full use of their pistols without the Doctor's scanning device to stop them.

"Mum, we have to get to the main hall," Clarice shouted.

She couldn't help the smile that fell on her lips hearing her daughter call her 'mum' and when she turned, Annabeth could see the grin on Clarice's face at being able to say the word and mean it. She glanced to the woman holding tight to her dress, the baby girl she hadn't seen in almost twenty four years, giving her the same crooked smirk she'd always given her as an infant as she watched her – watched _her mum_ protect her, and she wanted nothing more than to pull them both into a hold that would last an eternity.

But she understood it wasn't the time and as much as it pained her, she turned her eyes away from her daughters. Looking across the way at the large double doors, she nodded, but before she could even begin to rush forward, in a flash of light Morda appeared and glared over the crowd, reaching out quickly to the nearest of her own men to strip him of his sword before storming towards Annabeth.

Pushing Oswin towards Clarice, she stood between Morda and her daughters, her own sword ready, and when the other woman brought her blade down it sparked roughly against hers. The scowl on Morda's face turned up into a smile as she began to hack the air at Annabeth, laughter spilling out from her lips as Annabeth grunted against each strike in pain.

Clarice aimed the pistol she held, feeling the frail hands that gripped her left arm and she could hear Oswin telling her quietly, "No, please, don't," because the girl was afraid she'd shoot Annabeth and Clarice turned to look at her, seeing the genuine fear there.

"I have to try," she argued, shaking her head and watching Oswin slowly nod before lowering her eyes to the ground, chest rising and falling quickly as she silently prayed. Clarice raised the gun and waited, watching while wincing as Morda's sword continually collided with Annabeth's and she knew it was only a matter of time before her mother dropped her weapon from exhaustion.

And she fired.

With a surprised gasp and a quick swing of her sword, Morda deflected the burst of energy as Annabeth stabbed at her waist, listening to the grunt of pain as the metal pressed roughly into the armor she wore before Morda was able to backhand Annabeth to the ground. Stumbling back, Morda looking to her side with a grimace, seeing the slice the blade was able to tear out of the armored cloth, a thin line of blood standing out against her porcelain skin, before lifting her head to smile. Annabeth turned in time to watch Clarice raise her hand to the scorch mark just above her left breast as she stepped back into a stone pillar behind her in shock.

"No," Annabeth mouthed, crawling towards her as Oswin helped her to the ground.

Clarice looked to the space in front of her blankly and she smiled, crooked and amused, and she told her mother calmly, "No, no, it's alright."

Oswin pulled the cloak off her shoulders and reached out for a dagger at Clarice's waist, carefully cutting a strip and beginning to tend to her sister's wound. She gave a small hop over her legs and pressed the cloth to her chest, but she frowned and Annabeth understood – she didn't have enough strength to put the proper pressure the wound required. She moved to take her place as Morda laughed behind them.

"It's pointless, _your majesty_," she told them, striding towards them. "Oh, she'd survive that, but do you really think I'll let her?" She laughed, giving her sword a small swing in front of her as she watched the three women huddled together. Then she saw the identical momentary shift of their eyes to a space just behind her and she turned quickly, hand coming up to grip Clara's throat, giving her enough of a squeeze to drop the kitchen knife she held to begin grasping at the fingers curled around her neck. "Oh, _lovely_, it's _you_."

"Morda, please," Annabeth shouted, "Leave the girls."

Gesturing at Clara with her sword, Morda laughed, "This one _isn't even _yours." She glanced at Clara, "That is an interesting tale, I bet – one I would love to hear, but not more than I'd love to hear your last gasps before you die."

"No, please, no," Annabeth began, jerking towards Clara, but knowing she couldn't take her hand off Clarice's shoulder without risking more blood loss than she _could_ survive. She could feel the rag held to the wound already soaking through.

Morda raised her sword to Clara's chest as she struggled to breathe, and she asked, "Who, _exactly_, are you?" She smiled, head leaning to the side, "You came _with_ the Time Lord, didn't you." Laughing lightly, she nodded, "That does make sense, doesn't it. Meddlesome lot, Time Lords and their companions, except that your face has managed to almost single-handedly destroy twenty four years of _waiting_." Morda sighed then, her sword dropping as she brought Clara closer, "I think you deserve a fate worse than death, child."

"_Don't look at her_," Clarice muttered, feeling faint.

"_Don't let her in,_" Oswin croaked, shivering with fear.

Clara tried to look away, but there was a blinding pain just behind her eyes, one that stilled the gentle swinging of her legs underneath her and made her hands tighten their grip on the wrist in front of her. She tried to shout out, but her teeth clenched together and she looked to the woman staring into her fiercely. The rest of the room blurred from view and her hands dropped away as she felt the cold swirls snapping through her thoughts, locking them in place, binding all but the most vital of functions.

The Doctor and Sloren came rushing up the steps just as Morda's fingers uncurled from Clara's neck and she went drifting to the ground.


	26. Chapter 26

Time froze.

It wasn't often he got that impression, being a Time Lord in constant control of the passage of time around him, but watching her body drop to the ground, time _froze_. His senses amplified to take in the words being shouted in the room as well as those being shouted outside and he could almost hear the tinkle of glass shattering somewhere inside the castle and the rip of flesh broken from bodies. There was the creak of wood bending and the tear of rope being cut.

And there was the thunderous pounding of his hearts

Sloren's hand gripped tightly against the handle of his sword, sweaty palm grating against worn leather and his lungs filled with the slow wheeze of a breath he would soon expel in a scream of anger. It would mingle with Annabeth's cries of horror, seeing her daughter's face on another woman's body as it dropped away from their enemy. And the Doctor could see every fold in the fabric of her dress as it crumpled underneath her and he exhaled as her hip hit the ground limply, followed by her shoulder, and finally her head. Her hands settled slowly against the stones in front of her with a small hop and for a moment he was transfixed by the nearly imperceptible twirls of dust he could clearly see rise off the ground just in front of her lips.

The only sign he had that she was still _alive_.

In a whoosh of chaos, the world rushed back in and the Doctor glanced up in time to see Sloren burst forward, sword lifting quickly as he charged the smiling woman now taking a step away from Clara. They clashed with a deafening clang of swords and Morda grimaced at the force with which Sloren attacked. The Doctor launched himself to her, hands swiftly lifting Clara against him and sliding her towards the wall where Annabeth struggled with her want to check on Clara and her need to keep pressure on Clarice's wound.

Between them, Oswin shook her head in quiet disbelief and the Doctor slid his fingers over Clara's forehead, feeling the cool skin, watching the color draining from her lips as she lay lifeless in his arms. He looked to the older woman, lying Clarice down to get a better angle with which to press into her chest and the Doctor glanced up at Oswin as she stared at Sloren. There was a steely look of resolve hardening her dark eyes and he could see her readying herself, but he raised a hand to touch her arm.

"Don't you _dare_," he uttered, knowing her mind was considering offering herself as a distraction. If Oswin sacrificed herself, attacking Morda, she might be killed, but Sloren could have a chance at defeating the woman. He felt his mouth trembling as he turned his eyes back to Clara.

It was what she would have done.

* * *

Horace fell back as he launched a boulder into the air and his eyes widened with excitement, looking up at Mallory, who was turning slowly towards him in disbelief. "Oh," Horace cried, "Hansel _would_ love this."

"When we defeat this lot, we'll gift it to him," Mallory stated boldly with a nod. Then he began working to tie back the cupped wood again, lifting his sword and looking to where the armory stood, now surrounded in bodies and the smashed remnants of the barrels they'd been launching in their direction. "Get the explosives," he ordered, and the duo prepared themselves to cross the battlefield.

They shouted to others to clear a path, but found themselves facing two guards with Dironem armor and for a moment they stood, combat ready, but then the men before them stripped themselves of their helmets and one asked loudly, "You seek to destroy the ship?"

Mallory shrugged to Horace before he raised his sword and nodded, "That we do."

The duo glanced at one another before the other offered, "You're going to need to angle that device – you won't be able to reach the ship as it stands."

"What do you suggest?" He smiled, waiting.

The two men rushed forward and for a moment Mallory and Horace readied themselves for battle, but then men moved passed them and dropped a log atop a barrel, wedging the edge of the log underneath the catapult before pointing, and one offered, "Tilt it back a bit, if we…"

Mallory raised his sword to the man's chest and barked, "What game are you playing at?"

The men held their palms up defensively and one shook his head, telling them quietly, "Your princess, she spoke of peace. Of quiet lives without fighting or death or the tyranny of a queen." He nodded slowly, "Morda wins on this battlefield, we simply travel to another, and yet another, and yet another."

The other at his side interrupted with a grunt, "We're tired of fighting."

Mallory inched back, hearing Horace fighting off someone behind him, and he looked to the two men, "You get the explosives and if you touch a toe out of line I'll cut off your foot as a warning."

They exchanged a look and then nodded quickly, darting back into the fray with their weapons drawn, firing at their own guards and avoiding the swords and spears of villagers. They returned with two boxes and a promise that there were more if needed and they began explaining the small devices while loading them into the catapult.

* * *

Sloren couldn't get the image of what he'd just seen out of his head and while he knew it was the visitor from space who travelled with the Doctor, it was _her face_. It was his Clarice's face that had closed her eyes and fallen to the ground under what he knew was a hypnotic trance, impossible to break, and as he swung his sword to meet his mother's strikes, he replayed the moment she struck the floor over and over again knowing that if the woman had her way it would have been Clarice.

And she wouldn't simply sleep her life away.

"My offer still stands," Morda managed, holding her sword steady as she took a step back from the force of Sloren's last blow. "Still three to choose from – one's even unconscious already, she'll put up no fight to get her in the machine."

With a smile, he told his mother calmly, "The pile of useless junk down below? We _disabled_ it."

"I can undo the Time Lord's tinkering," she hissed.

He raised his sword and swung it roughly at her, barking as he collided, "Can you undo my blade's destruction?"

Morda watched the fierceness in his eyes as understanding dawned on her and she looked sideways to Annabeth, now calling down to Clarice, who'd lost consciousness and she whipped her gaze back to her son, "For a girl."

He pushed her away, "For more than a girl, mother."

"What then?" She growled. "For a throne."

Sloren grimaced, turning away for only a moment. A moment in which she brought her sword up to tear through his sleeve as he shouted out and twisted, blocking a second strike before tilting his head and telling her, "Is it all about a throne for you? An empire you can expand upon atop the deaths of the innocent?"

Teeth clenched as she thrust him away, she asked, "What else is there, Sloren?"

With a grunt of frustration, Sloren attacked his mother angrily and he shifted when she turned, slipping closer to Clarice with her sword out, eyes staring into her son's as he answered quietly, "Me."

For a moment they simply stared at one another and the Doctor understood that what Clarice had instilled in Sloren, what she'd promised him merely by her returning his love for her, had been something his own mother had denied him. Clarice was comfort and she was understanding. He watched the pain in the man's bright eyes as he looked into the cold stare of his mother's and the Doctor knew – Clarice was the hope of _family_. A loving family that didn't need to own even a small patch of land, much less stand over an empire, to know that all they needed they could find in each other.

Morda frowned at her son, bringing her sword up to ping off his easily. "You're upset because _dear old mummy_ didn't offer you a teat to suck on all of these years?" She lamented, feigning sadness before raising an eyebrow and arguing, "I raised you to be a _warrior_; to be a man who got what he wanted. Instead of whimpering in the shadows of great men, I trained you to be the man who _cast those very shadows _and you've thrown it all away because of her – because of a _pretty little bit of nothing_."

"Clarice," Sloren shouted, "Is not _nothing_," then he swung his sword to meet his mother's roughly, "And she's certainly not _little_." He swung his sword again. "Clarice," he told his mother with a nod as he shoved her away, "Is a thousand times the woman you ever had the _potential_ to be."

He growled and the Doctor inched up, settling Clara to the ground and feeling Oswin's hand clutch his arm with a simple, "Don't." But he knew Morda was succeeding in throwing Sloren's focus off. He reached forward for Annabeth's sword and again felt the delicate grip of Oswin's fingers on him. "_Please_, don't."

Hearing the metal banging against metal again, he raised his eyes to Sloren and then to the woman across from him knowing the power she wielded and knowing she could very well be holding back. The sword just underneath his fingers, however, slipped out of his grasp before he could get a hold of it and when he glanced up, he saw Annabeth stand to swiftly swing it out towards Morda.

He gave a shout just as the ground shook from a massive explosion outside and the Doctor could hear the whirring of an engine giving. His eyes went wide at the prospect that somehow, someone in the chaos had managed to destroy the ship hovering overhead and just as he shook the thought away, he listened to the sound of it dropping out of the skies sending a wave of men in through the hall. Men who pushed passed Morda and Annabeth and Sloren and had the Doctor reaching to roll Clara up into his arms to shift her into Oswin's.

The fighting continued at a frenzied pace around them as the Doctor raised his Sonic to, at the very least, disable the guns, and when he turned back, he found Morda between Annabeth and Sloren. The woman in the middle laughing manically as she deflected blows from both. He looked around himself and spotted the discarded weapon Clarice had used and he picked it up warily before giving it a buzz of his Sonic to watch the blue lights streak over the weapon.

"Doctor," Oswin called, gesturing at Clarice, and he understood, looking up at Annabeth before quickly leaving Clara to Oswin as he scrambled towards Clarice to put his hands against the cloth at her shoulder.

Annabeth brought her sword down heavily and Morda shifted back, catching the handle as she raised her sword to block Sloren's strike and in a burst of sparks, both flew away from her. "Oh, _Doctor_," Morda called, holding tight to her sword as she watched the Time Lord turn to look at her, eyes roaming across the floor at Annabeth and then at Sloren. "Have you thought up a _strategy_ for this scenario?"

"Morda, it doesn't have to end this way," he offered, hand gripping into Clarice's wound as he turned to give the woman his full attention. "You could live peacefully here."

The ground rumbled beneath their feet and the Doctor knew the ship had crash landed in the woods behind the castle. He hoped no one was left hiding away there and he listened as Morda simply laughed. "_Peacefully_," she repeated. "What would be the point?"

"The point," he offered with a nod, "Would be _living_."

"Not until every wretched version of _that face_ is wiped from the universe," she growled in response.

He raised his hands just as Morda lifted her sword, grimace focused on Clarice just behind him and the Doctor knew the woman was prepared to cut through him to get to her, and, he knew, to her sister and, he also knew, to Clara. Except a burst of energy pulsed out from the space behind him and caught Morda directly in the chest and as she fell, he turned to see Oswin gripping the gun in both hands.


	27. Chapter 27

Reaching up with his left hand, the Doctor refused to ease the pressure on Clarice's wound with his right as he took the gun from Oswin's shaking hands to settle it to the ground. He could see her limbs trembling with fear as her wide eyes stared down at Morda's body, as if trying to ensure it wouldn't come to life again. The Doctor knew, with a quick scan of his Sonic, she wouldn't, but he imagined if Morda so much as flinched in that moment, Oswin would simply pick the weapon up and fire off another shot. The girl hidden away in the dungeon; the girl meant to be nothing more than a test subject or a second set of coordinates into the machine.

_The spare parts Morda never considered a threat_.

"Oswin," he breathed, "You're safe."

She continued to look on though, as she uttered, "She was going to kill my sister."

"She would have killed you too," he told her, but he watched her shake her head. Oswin had shot Morda not to ensure her own safety – something the Doctor knew she'd given up on long ago – but to ensure the safety of her sister. For a woman she'd never known, with a love she shouldn't understand, Oswin was willing to risk the same fate as her sister – _or worse_ – to try to save her. He smiled, and uttered, "The most pure reason."

He looked to Clara knowing that was perfectly her and he frowned, turning to Oswin again and seeing the girl finally shifting her eyes away, kneeling beside Clara to cradle her head in her lap. He could hear the fighting outside was dying down and it sounded like cheers were beginning to erupt and he breathed a small sigh of relief, running his Sonic over Clarice and pressing his wrist to his brow as her vitals came back low, but stable.

A few feet away on either side, Sloren and Annabeth stirred, and Sloren moved to help Annabeth up and around Morda towards the Doctor where she knelt to take her daughter back into her arms. "How?" Sloren asked, gesturing back to Morda as the Doctor stood.

"Oswin," he told him quietly, watching the small smile of appreciation lift his lips. "Ironically, the blast never made it through the armor in the lining of her clothes – _she had a weak heart_ – the concussion from the shot essentially shattered it. It was instant, Sloren," he assured.

"They're surrendering," Mallory shouted from the back entrance, approaching them and slowing to a stop when he saw Morda lying on the ground. "She dead?" He spat.

Sloren bowed his head a moment as Mallory approached and he glanced up when the man slapped a hard hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, mate, I know she was your mum…" he began as Sloren waved a hand.

"She stopped being my mum long ago, Mallory," he replied honestly. "She's been a monster for as long as I can remember; I'm only sorry it took me so long to realize it was wrong." Then he knelt, "Clarice?"

"She's good, Sloren, just needs her wound properly tended to, and some rest," the Doctor told him quietly before turning to Mallory and questioning quickly, "Did you take the ship out of the sky?"

Horace came bounding in with the two Dironem guards who jerked away from Morda. Gesturing back at the threesome, Mallory supplied, "We found this thing out back. Never seen anything like it; can send the ammunitions of your choosing an incredibly distance."

Nodding knowingly, the Doctor looked to Sloren and asked quietly, "Why isn't she waking?"

Sloren stood and watched the Doctor's lips come together tightly as he refused to turn to his companion still lying in Oswin's lap. Looking to Clara for him, Sloren dropped his head slightly and he explained, "It's a psychic block. She'll breathe, she'll swallow if fed, she'll relieve herself, she'll even dream – but she'll be incapable of waking."

"I take it that block isn't linked to Morda's consciousness," the Doctor allowed. "Or her life."

His mouth opened as he watched the way the Doctor's jaw clenched and his eyes watered, still hopeful despite what his mind knew. "No, once the block is established, it would take a great force to remove it. I've never seen one successfully removed." He raised an arm to her, "I could try, but it's the mind – one wrong push and I could simply be doing more damage."

Nodding slowly, the Doctor finally turned, eyes closing a moment before allowing himself to look at her sleeping form before prompting, "Is this something you could train yourself to do; could you work your way up to it?"

Sloren gave a slight nod, "I could try; _I will try_, Doctor – or she could simply wake up."

Moving to kneel next to her, the Doctor cupped a hand over her cheek, giving it a small rub with his thumb before shifting back. He slipped his arms underneath her neck and legs and hoisted her up to turn back to Sloren to ask, "And if she doesn't?"

Stepping closer to him, Sloren assured, "These sorts of things… it's a matter of the mind – there's always a trigger to snap someone out. Something strong enough to break through the telepathic blocks that were put in place." He nodded to the Doctor, "We'll just have to figure out what hers is."

* * *

**One Month Later**

Clarice took a long breath and raised her bow carefully, arrow already in place, and she took aim at a target settled against a haystack in the distance. Narrowing her left eye, she focused on the target with her right, hearing her sister inhale as quietly as possible, before Clarice released the arrow on an exhale. The wood cut the air swiftly and impaled the drawing Hansel had made of Morda directly through the heart, sending straw to the ground and the young woman behind her into a nervous set of giggles. Bringing the bow back down, she passed it to her right hand, turning her left shoulder over with a grimace.

Touching her arm delicately, Oswin asked, "Does it still hurt?"

"A bit," Clarice frowned, "The Doctor says I could always have a twinge doing certain things." With a smile, she added, "He says one day I might be able to tell the oncoming storms from the pain in my shoulder."

Oswin smirked and Clarice handed her the bow. Picking an arrow out from a quiver set into the ground, she readied herself as Clarice watched. Her sister was still shy and quiet, but in the weeks since Morda's death and their reclaiming the kingdom, Oswin had begun to fill out her dresses and the dark hair that had hung limply against her head now had a definite wave to it just as her cheeks now held the rosy color of too many hours in the sun chasing after a set of rambunctious boys.

The Queen's _Princes_.

"Just remember to focus," Clarice offered lightly, watching the nod the other girl gave her before settling the end of the arrow atop the knuckle of her forefinger and drawing the string back, straightening her posture knowingly as she took in a breath and released.

The arrow settled itself a foot beneath Clarice's and they both laughed before turning to see Sloren approaching on horseback with the Doctor at his side, both sun kissed and dirty, faces holding hints of smiles as they looked to the women. Sloren slipped off first, raising his arms as Clarice moved towards him, stopping herself to grimace at him as she held him at arm's length. With a playful growl, he pulled her into him, smothering her in kisses she fought off weakly before meeting his lips as she grinned.

Dropping off his own horse and giving it a gentle pet, the Doctor nodded to Oswin and told her quietly, "You're becoming quite the archer."

"I missed the target," Oswin laughed.

He pointed with a rise of his eyebrows, "You've _reached_ the target."

She understood that he meant her strength was increasing and, as it did, her aim would continue to develop and – she knew – he had all the faith in the universe that she would hit her mark soon enough. Blushing lightly, Oswin approached him and offered him a small peck of her lips to his warm cheek and when she dropped back down, he was smirking with understanding.

They all knew the Doctor stayed for the woman still sleeping.

He went into the villages with Sloren and the new guard to help rebuild during the day – both the buildings and the moral of a people who'd spent two decades under the forceful fist of Morda – and at night he returned to sit at her bedside, watching over her and hoping. It had been over a month and Clara still hadn't woken despite all of the stories he told her and all of the small probes of Sloren's into her mind; probes that ended with a shake of his head and a quiet, "_I'm sorry, Doctor_."

Sloren shifted towards him and then nodded to the castle, "Go."

The Doctor felt Oswin's hand squeeze at his arm and he could see the look of empathy both her and Clarice were offering him. He cherished that face offering condolences, knowing the long walk to her room to see her lying there motionless, features frozen the same way each day, would break his hearts… as it did every evening. Turning once, he watched the small smirk Oswin gave him and he looked away just as Sloren's hand rounded Clarice, fingers fanning out over an abdomen that now carried – the Doctor knew – new life.

He sighed as he entered the castle, nodding at the guards and servants now freely roaming the grounds and he tugged at the neck of his tunic before drifting through the opening doors of his Tardis, settled just outside of her room. A quick wash and a change later, he stepped out, fingers lingering on the handle to the machine, before taking the three steps to the archway through which he would find her.

"Doctor," Hansel called and for a moment his eyes snapped open with excitement, but the boy frowned his apology as he stood from his chair and looked to Moff before telling him, "Sorry, we were just looking forward to your return."

He smiled, and then told them softly, "Stay out of the engine room."

They moved swiftly towards him, eagerly anticipating what they might find in the Tardis they'd now been given free reign of. The Doctor had programmed her to steer them to the pool or the library – the safest destinations – and he felt a momentary pang of happiness that at least someone was still enjoying the old girl. He shifted when he felt Hansel pause just beside him and he looked to the tall boy, watching him consider his words before he glanced up at the Doctor.

"I think she dreamed of you today," he told him quietly.

The Doctor managed a grin as he ruffed the hair on the boy's head to ask, "And why's that."

He glanced at Clara, something the Doctor hadn't quite prepared himself to do, and he sighed as he explained, "Because just once, for just a quick second, I know I saw her smile."

"She could be dreaming of anything, Hansel," he laughed weakly. "A childhood memory, a burst of colors, a line from her mother's mouth that's resurfaced to give her some comfort in her prison." With a shrug, he added, "Or it's a slight of the muscles on her face. An involuntary twitch – a spasm."

Hansel sighed with a frustration the Doctor didn't understand, pressing his lips together as Moff cried out from the Tardis doors for him to join him and he shook his head at the Doctor, "No, it was a smile and it was for you."

"How can you be so sure?" He prompted, eyes narrowing playfully.

Face going crimson, he told him quietly, "Because when she was in that cage, dangling in the cold and I went to speak to her..." He trailed and took a breath before telling him boldly, "When I mentioned you, our _village idiot_, she became starlight, Doctor. She smiled in her sleep, when I touched her cheek – like you do – but when she smiled it was for you."

The boy turned quickly, some mix of jealousy and confusion on his face as he rushed away and the Doctor closed his eyes against even the idea of it before he shifted, hands clasped in front of him, and he opened his eyes to look at her. Taking the few steps to the chair that sat beside her bed, he smiled and he whispered, hopeful for the first time in weeks, "Hello, Clara."


	28. Chapter 28

For a moment he focused on her eyes because he greeted her once a day and once a day he hoped it would be enough for those dark eyes to flash open. But they hadn't. He dropped heavily into the chair at her bedside and sighed as he looked over the arms that lay atop the sheets at her sides and for a while he simply watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, before leaning forward and rubbing at his brow.

"Your echo," he teased, "Is going to be a mother." He smiled up at her to tell her in a whisper, "If you were awake, you'd find that amusing, and then you'd find it _weird_, and then we'd have an awkward discussion about a version of you having children which would turn into a conversation about all of the families you might have out there in the stars." He laughed. "If you stay sleeping, I could tell you how it would look on you." The Doctor hung his head, "And that's where the conversation would become uncomfortable because we'd dissolve into discussion about you having children and you wanting children, because I know you want them, Clara, and eventually we'd simply end up staring at one another in silence, small smirks on our faces, neither wanting to be the first to say the next words because they'd be words of limitations; questions of impossibilities; declarations of inevitability." He chuckled. "And then I'd blurt something random, like _Olympians_, and you'd just look at me and repeat _Olympians, Doctor – nice bodies, good sports_, and I'd explain they were bad sports and tell you all about it just to change the subject."

He watched her continue breathing calmly as he sat.

"You hate when I change the subject."

Leaning his elbows to his knees, he looked over the paleness of her skin and how her hair had been brushed neatly at the sides of her head. The maids had been commanded by Annabeth – _by the Queen_ – to treat Clara as though she were her daughter. They tended to her as a princess, carefully cleaning her and feeding her and dressing her and oft times the Doctor found them praying for her. He understood it was a gesture of hope and he accepted it without question or comment.

They offered him a sort of rosary to carry for her and he'd wrapped it around her right wrist long ago, settling the beads in her hand with a gentle kiss to her fingers. And with that small kiss he'd raised his head wanting to find her staring down at him, but she continued sleeping and he smiled to himself – _how could he be so foolishly optimistic_.

"Doctor," Annabeth breathed lightly from the doorway, and the Doctor looked over his shoulder, doing his best to smile for the woman who now wore an elaborate gown, golden crown set atop the dark tresses that framed her face.

"Your majesty," he replied quietly, giving her a small nod of his head before looking back to Clara.

Annabeth stepped into the room and came to his side. "The boys saw her smile earlier."

With a nod, he sighed, "They told me as much when I arrived."

"You don't believe them?" She questioned, stepping between the Doctor and Clara to lift Clara's hand up to hold it as she sat on the bed beside her.

He smiled at the caresses the woman was offering his companion. The comfort of a mother towards a daughter who wasn't truly hers, but was accepted as such. "I believe in the body's response to stimuli – a flicker of dust landing on her face, the trickle of wind over her cheek, a dose of just the right chemical in her body at just the right time…"

"You don't believe she could have, for a moment, held onto a thought so powerful it managed to break beyond this cursed state to elicit the hint of a grin, Doctor?" She watched him frown slightly, "This is why you need her," Annabeth argued, "You speak of the wonders of the universe, an elaborate choreography of words dancing from your hearts, but you can't possibly believe in the power of something as simple as love."

"Love?" The Doctor questioned.

Annabeth grinned, "I didn't get the chance to know Clara as well as I would have liked before this," she looked to her and then continued, "But she called me _mum_, when you first arrived – do I resemble her mother, Doctor?"

He nodded slowly, "It's how she knew you were Clarice's mother; it's how I knew."

"She said it with tears in her eyes," Annabeth remembered before asking quietly with a knowing glance to the Doctor, "Her mother has passed on, hasn't she."

Lips pushing together, the Doctor hesitated before offering quietly, "Yes."

The woman sitting beside Clara smiled lightly and then spoke assuredly to the Doctor, saying, "She's travelled across the stars in your blue box and upon seeing the face of her deceased mother, knowing she could have time with her mother's face… she went to find you."

"She understood you weren't her mother," the Doctor replied, unsure.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she sighed, "You truly don't understand."

"What," the Doctor prompted, "Love?"

"He understands it quite well, mother," Clarice interrupted from the doorway, one hand holding to the stone arch she stood beside as she looked from Clara to the Doctor. "Doctor, tell me you understand. Sloren says you have two hearts beating in your chest; he says they beat for _her_ – how could you let her say you know nothing of love when you have so much…"

He stood slowly, hand outstretched as he stated firmly, "Enough."

The two women were watching him, he knew, and he kept his eyes trained on the stones beneath his feet, listening to their silence – their condemnation – until finally Annabeth spoke, firmly, "You're restless here, Doctor. Occupying your days with work that might be better left to a people committed to this place than…"

"I'm helping – I should have done more when I arrived; I should have found a way to stop what happened in Fairswell…"

"_Instead of rushing to save Clara_," Annabeth told him with a nod. "Neither you, nor Sloren, could have predicted what Morda had in store for the village of Fairswell. As such, you are not seen as responsible for those actions, nor are you held for any sort of restitution for them," she assured before finishing calmly, "You are free to leave whenever you please, Doctor."

"But Cla…" he began, turning to meet her eye, a pang of anxiety stabbing his chest.

Annabeth gave Clara's hand a squeeze and she interrupted, "Clara is free to remain in Euwan. She will be loved and cared for and should she awaken she shall be heralded as a Princess of Euwan, a title she has earned for more than just her sacrifice. There's no need to worry about her any more, Doctor."

Rolling his shoulders back, the Doctor stared into the woman in front of him, his jaw clenching tightly, painfully, at what she was implying. "I don't stay over _worry_."

"Then what do you stay for?" The Queen challenged.

"Annabeth," Sloren called quietly, waiting until the woman glanced up at him before he told her calmly, "You're needed in the garden," then he looked to Clarice, "There are questions about the wedding that need to be sorted by the women."

The Doctor watched the two women depart slowly and he passed an appreciative nod to Sloren as the man entered the room and looked to Clara, a small sigh escaping as he watched her. Examining the look of apprehension on the other man's face, he smiled and then turned away. "Every day you thank your stars it's not Clarice in this bed."

"I would be lying if I said I didn't," he turned, "But I am sorry it is your friend."

He smiled, then asked lightly, "How is Clarice?"

Sloren released a small chuckle, "Freedom suits her well."

"I meant the pregnancy," the Doctor prompted.

Licking his lips lightly, Sloren gestured at the Doctor's Sonic and asked quickly, "Have you scanned her?"

"I might have," he admitted, brow rising lightly, "When she was shot, and maybe again during her recovery, and quite possibly once or twice more recently to ensure everything was progressing along naturally."

"Will it be…" Sloren began, hands coming up slightly before he shifted towards the Doctor, beginning again, "Will it be… alright?"

With a smile, the Doctor told him quietly, "Perfectly healthy, Sloren, I assure you."

"Have you and Clara considered children?" The man asked him, smiling as the Doctor's face went green and telling him, "Does she even know how you feel about her?"

"I'm a _Time Lord_," he supplied. "From Gallifrey. Thousand years old and change with all of my complexities and all of my _complexes_ and all of my _me-ness_… and she's human and…" he stopped himself from the words he was thinking: _wondrous, clever, honest, loyal, brave, beautiful…_ swallowing the words before continuing, "And she deserves…"

"Better than you?" Sloren asked, looking to Clara, "I can't break through this block any more than I could sneak past the outermost thoughts in your own mind, Doctor, but believe me when I say – she deserves to know what you feel."

Hands coming together in a swirl of anxiety, he watched Clara sleeping and he felt his breathing quicken as he asked with a head tilt towards Sloren, "How does one go about doing that?" Then he informed him, "I've been around the block, but it's been a while since I've driven the car. I usually stroll, or take the bike. Mostly I skip ahead in the Tardis and so the driving…"

Sloren reached out to stop his hands and he leaned into him, telling him gently, "You speak from your heart – or hearts in your case – and you simply tell her."

"Is that how you told Clarice?"

The other man smiled, "I kissed Clarice." Releasing his hands, he reached out to give his shoulder a quick clamp of a heavy palm and then he squeezed gently, telling him, "If you'll excuse me, I have to make sure my bride to be isn't intent on cutting the entire garden for the wedding."

Smiling, the Doctor shifted as Sloren's hand came off him and he waved him off, waiting until he'd left to walk towards the door to close it, turning back to look at Clara. Anxiously, he approached the bed and for a moment he stood next to it, simply staring down at her. He smiled as he watched her, "Come to a fairy tale world and I've turned you into the damsel in distress." He released a sad sigh before his eyebrows rose and he corrected, "Well, you weren't, were you – all three of you, fighting until the very end."

The Doctor released another long breath and he settled himself on the edge of the bed, hand hesitating before taking hers into his lap to look at her fingers lying placid in his. "I suppose the only one in distress in this place is me and you're the only one who can save me from that – isn't that always how it ends between us, me relying on you, except you…" he gestured at her with his free hand, closing his eyes against her pale features before he reached for them, palming her cheek and exhaling raggedly. "Clara, do you dream?"

He opened his eyes to look down at her, a small smile fluttering across his lips as he answered himself, "Of course you dream – _but what do you dream about_?" His thumb rubbed over her cheek gently and he tilted his head, "I suppose it's possible you dream of me, but how can a dream _of me_ be enough to let you peek through with a smile?" Brow furrowing, he asked, "_Is it_ love?" He inhaled sharply, "Clara, is it even possible – _could_ you…"

Releasing a light laugh, he glanced to the door and continued, "It's funny how the notion of the power of love could so easily allow me to believe against all that odds Sloren could defeat his mother and help Annabeth take back the throne, but the notion of someone – _of you_ – having an ounce of love _for me_… I'm an old man, Clara. Old and foolish and mad and you," his finger drifted over her lips. "You love me and I..."

Letting her fingers settle against her stomach, he stood and took a step away from her, right hand planting against his waist as his left dug into the back of his head, ruffling the hair there before he turned. She continued to sleep, peacefully, and he frowned because what he wanted, more than anything, was for her to tell him how ridiculous he was being. What the Doctor wanted… _what he needed_… was for her to wake up and chastise him with that subtle giggle of hers.

"It's a fairy tale," he breathed. "_But could it be so simple_?" He shifted towards her, but stopped, hands clenching at his sides as he shook his head, "Mental paralysis; sleeping curse – in fairy tales cured by _true love's kiss_. A psychic connection between two who love one another enough to…" He pointed, "If it doesn't work, there's no harm; if it does, I get _slapped_, but _you're fine_ and I know. I'd know that you do and _I do_ and that it was _just_ enough…"

He moved back to her side and sat gently beside her, bending over her and taking her hand, whispering, "_Please, Clara_," before closing his eyes to touch his lips to hers with a simple thought unifying _every_ thought in his mind.

Pressing his lips for just a moment firmly into hers, his eyes pinched shut further and he slipped away slowly, the coolness of her skin melting off his before he felt his chin tremble because he had hoped. He had hoped beyond hope and it had failed.

And then she gasped, eyes flashing open as her hands came up to grip at his waist coat and she spoke his thought aloud, "_I do love you_."


	29. Chapter 29

**One Week Later**

"Doctor," Clara whispered as they stood a few feet from Sloren and Clarice exchanging the final portions of their vows, "You're squeezing my hand."

He released her with a start, staring down at her with shock in his eyes and then he saw the smirk – the smirk he'd missed entirely too much in the month she'd been asleep – and he reached for her again, taking up her hand and bringing it to his lips to peck a light kiss. "Shhh," he prompted, nodding his head towards the duo now kissing to the cheers that went up like a rolling roar through the air around them.

Clara was whistling at his side, clapping her free hand against the one he continued to hold and he watched her give a hop as she smiled up at Clarice and Sloren, now turned to face the patrons who could fit into the courtyard. The Doctor sighed as he saw the excitement in her and for a moment he was afraid he'd never be able to look away; he'd been having that feeling a lot in the past few days. The days after she woke. He'd refused to release her as they sat in the bed together, Clara tucked into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"_I heard you_," she'd whispered against him, voice hoarse and full of tears.

"_I meant it_," he'd admitted with a kiss to her head.

She'd laughed then, "_I know_."

The Queen had been the one to get him to finally move away from her, to allow Clara the comfort of her mother's arms – mother's arms and mother's tears and mother's kisses and mother's questions. Of course they wanted to know how she broke through; how she was able to break out of a psychic trance no one had ever broken out of before, and in the small smile that came with a look to the Doctor, Sloren had been the one to laugh first, hands clamping down on his shoulders to offer reassuring squeezes as the Doctor blushed violently in the presence of so many Clara could now call family.

Even two boys who proclaimed, upon entering the room holding an insane length of multi-colored scarf between them and around them, they were glad their _sister_ had awoken. And then they'd found themselves invited to a wedding – the guests of honor, for it would have been impossible without them. At the Queen's insistence, Clara found herself submersed in the decisions of a bride while the Doctor was left to dismantle the machine and make sense of the wreckage of the alien ship.

The weaponry, the Queen surmised, could help them defend themselves against future attacks… once they rejoined the rest of the universe. A task the Doctor set himself to accomplishing with Sloren while passing glances at the three identical women sharing tea and whispered secrets in the garden as they discussed the different worlds they'd grown up in.

"_What did it, Doctor – in the end, how did you wake her_?"

He'd smiled as he answered, "_The right words_."

"_You're always about words, aren't you, Doctor_."

Of course, the days of words, he hoped, were behind him. Clara came bounding into his Tardis on the morning of the wedding with a twirl of a blue gown as she smiled up at him and gave him a nod. "_You're not going dressed like that, are you_?" She'd questioned, head tilting, mouth curling into a sort of grimace that amused him. She rushed up to his side, arm easily wrapping around his as she teased, "_A knight's suit, Doctor – you should change_."

Her lips found his easily now, but it never ceased to send his hearts pumping and he nodded when she slipped back, exiting the Tardis to find Sloren and ask him for a change of attire the man was more than happy to provide. And now he stood at her side as the wedded couple passed them down the aisle and began to accept the well wishes of villagers and the Doctor knew – it was a happiness the lands hadn't witnessed in so many years, some simply wept.

"Doctor," Annabeth called, gaining his attention with a wave of her hand and he looked to Clara, who was watching Clarice and Sloren share another kiss as he excused himself and approached the Queen. He bowed slightly and the woman laughed, "_You_," she told him sternly, hands at his elbows, "You do not bow."

He flipped his hand back and tugged lightly on the collar of his top. "I've deduced a way to bring you out of the fold," he told her lightly. "You'll essentially piggy back on the opening my Tardis creates when we depart."

Watching her frown, he sighed as he turned to watch Clara and Clarice embrace as Sloren watched and then he turned back when the Queen cleared her throat, "Before you go, there's one final task I feel it's imperative I entrust you with."

Smiling, he nodded, then told her calmly, "Anything."

Looking up at Clara, the Queen admitted, "When you arrived, Doctor – I had nothing. I was clinging to the simple hope that the child I had _died_ to save wouldn't be killed and now?" She smiled, cheeks going red, "Now I have my daughters – I have three beautiful, wonderful girls, Doctor – and I have two sons I intend to chisel into proper Princes in spite of themselves. I have my kingdom and I have my people and a chance to correct the wrongs Morda has inflicted upon them all." Smiling to Sloren, she added, "And I have a son-in-law who would sacrifice himself for my daughter," she looked to the Doctor to tell him, "I believe, in my heart, I have two."

He grinned up at her, nodding slowly and watching as Annabeth's hand sank into a pocket in the gown she wore to retrieve a small white pouch lined with golden lace. "What is this?" He asked as she held it out to him.

"I had it made for her – _for Clara_," she told him as he took it. "She has an affinity for rings, I've seen, and I thought this the best way for her to keep her crown as Princess of Euwan – _for she is, henceforth, a Princess of Euwan _– and as I understand it, discretion in your travels might be best."

The Doctor emptied the contents into his palm, a golden band with a sliver of writing on the interior he knew denoted her name and status and three small gems encrusted in a cluster at the top. A red stone for Clarice, amber for Oswin, and a deep blue for Clara – a symbol he recognized from somewhere in memory. Perhaps it had become a fairy tale, their time in Euwan. With a smile, he imagined Clarice would tell her child all about the ridiculous man, and the woman who wore her face, who fell from the sky in their magic blue box to save them.

"You should be the one to gift this to her, your majesty," the Doctor told her quietly.

Annabeth smiled, nodding up as Clara came bouncing down the aisle towards them, "It would seem more appropriate that the knight from the stars crown her… _his_ lost princess."

With a shy smile of understanding, he dropped the ring back into its bag and pocketed it, turning just as Clara hopped the last step to stand at his side, a small bow for the Queen before giggling and eliciting a similar noise from the woman standing in front of them. Clara gestured back at Sloren and Clarice and she sighed at him quietly, "We should be thinking about leaving soon," with a shy smile to Annabeth, she added, "Love the dresses, and the company, but I'd also really love a frappuccino."

Raising a hand to pull Clara towards her, Annabeth laughed and scolded, "Not until we're finished celebrating, young lady."

"Alright, _mum_," she sighed before dropping her head to the woman's shoulder with her eyes closed and the Doctor watched them walk off together to find Sloren and Clarice and, he chuckled knowingly, Oswin – who was currently laughing as Mallory detailed some story to her that ended with him chasing her off towards the garden as she shrieked in amusement.

He recognized the look in Oswin's eyes, saw it mirrored in Mallory's as they disappeared around a maze of bushes, and as he reached out to take Clara back from Annabeth, landing a comfortable arm around Clara's shoulder, the Doctor offered her a smile as she grinned up at him. The Doctor pushed his right hand into his pocket, fingers touching the bag that held Clara's ring and he bent to kiss her forehead, watching her smile again. Always that same smile for him, as they headed towards the reception.

* * *

"Tardis sounds _weird_," Clara lamented just as they came to a standstill, hovering in space. She moved with the Doctor towards the doors to open them and look upon the planet they'd tugged back into the universe, settled back in its orbit around the alien sun that had come with them. In the darkness behind them a lightning shaped gap sparkled and then snapped shut as he sighed.

The Doctor nodded, glancing sideways at her, still in her gown, and supplied, "It always sounded weird; it's the Tardis."

"Yeah," she laughed, leaning into him lightly to shove him, "But now it sounds as alien as it is."

He moved back to the console, hanging his head lightly, and Clara closed the doors, pressing her backside against them as she watched him fumble with the controls. He tugged at his collar and his chin shifted upwards as he glanced up at the screen and then tapped it. When he finally met her inquisitive eyes, he smiled lightly and prompted, "What?"

"You're going to fall back into this, aren't you?" Clara asked quietly, frown settling on her lips.

"Back into what?" The Doctor questioned, watching her step onto the console space, remaining just a few steps from him and some part of him already understood. Back into their roles as Doctor and companion; as if the past two months hadn't happened. As if they didn't know how they felt about one another.

Clara's hands wrung in the space in front of her and he watched her swallow roughly before she nodded and said quietly, "Back into this place where we're not allowed to love one another like _we know_ we do."

Pushing off the console, the Doctor reached out and he waited until Clara approached him, her hands coming up to meet his as they both sighed into the contact. He nodded shortly and could see her smile as he told her quietly, "I'm sorry –_ old habits_."

"Why not make new habits, Doctor?" Clara suggested and she inched closer to him, shifting their hands apart so she could step on tip toe to meet her lips to his and he felt himself growing faint as they stood there, delicately exploring one another a moment before he finally slipped back and stared down at her.

"Clara?" He asked, hands dropping out of hers so he could fish the bag out of his pocket, "Annabeth wanted me to give this to you." He held the bag, loosening the draw string so he could tuck his fingers inside before nodding in her direction and allowing, "It's a ring that serves as your crown – marking you for anyone in the universe with the knowledge of Euwan – as princess."

She smiled as he slipped it out and held it between his fingers, bringing it up to narrow his eyes to peer at her through it before chuckling and Clara held a palm out, "I get to be a princess," she teased, "This certainly _is_ a fairy tale, isn't it, Doctor?"

He only nodded.

"Doctor?" Her hand closed and re-opened, beckoning him to hand it over, but he shook his head and Clara tilted her own to watch the conflict on his face before he adjusted the knight's uniform he wore and took a long breath, dropping on one knee.

"With Annabeth's permission, and," he reached for her hand as she continued to stare in confusion, "Contingent upon your acceptance, I asked that it also crown you as _my_ Queen." He raised his eyes to meet hers, "This is my last regeneration; my last hurrah around the universe and I want it with you at my side – and I know, Clara, we can sort those details later – but," he smiled now, "Clara Oswald, would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Lips shifting upwards, she shook her head and uttered, "No."

Eyes finding the console beside him and then coming back to her, he raised his free hand to point, but Clara tugged him up and she laughed lightly as he began, "I don't…"

"I'm your Queen," she teased, "Said so yourself. Think I prefer that over _wife_, don't you?"

"Is that a yes?" He asked, one eyebrow rising.

With a nod, she told him firmly, "This is my fairy tale, isn't it Doctor – my echoes, my lives… I think I deserve a bit of happily ever after, don't you?"

Releasing a breath of relief, he nodded as he looked over her gown and his suit and he grinned mischievously, settling the ring onto her finger and then bringing her knuckles to his lips to kiss before turning to the controls beside him as she snuggled into his side. Her arm moved around him, clutching at him and he gazed down at her, waiting for her to meet his eyes before asking her lovingly, "Where to, _my Queen_?"

Clara grinned up at him and replied with a small nod, "Everywhere."

The End...


End file.
